


over the sea, to skye

by MayWilder



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Outlander Fusion, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, American Revolution, Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Bisexual Peter Parker, Doctor Peter Parker, F/M, Gen, Happy Ending, M/M, Revolutionary War, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:15:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 37,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26044084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayWilder/pseuds/MayWilder
Summary: In the low light, there’s not much to see except the women holding lanterns, draped in loose white fabric, and barefoot as they glide into a circled formation. There’s a high pitched singing in a language Peter doesn’t know.The women begin to twirl. On top of the singing, varied sounds come from the group that Peter soon realizes is a sort of acapella accompaniment. Low and high tones alike carry so strongly across the hilltop that it creates the illusion of instruments to make an eerie song. Despite how ridiculous the whole thing should be, the hairs on the back of Peter’s neck stand up. In some ways, listening to the music and watching the dance as the sun swells over the mountainside, he gets the keen sense that he is not supposed to be watching.This is ancient.This is powerful.
Relationships: Betty Brant & Peter Parker, Betty Brant/Ned Leeds, Harley Keener & Tony Stark, Harley Keener/Peter Parker, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 23
Kudos: 58





	1. sing me a song

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TakenByEmrys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TakenByEmrys/gifts).



> A couple things to note! This is a time travel fic, that takes place primarily in 1776. The period typical homophobia is altered so that it better reflects the attitude in the earlier 2010s. It is not historically accurate, but I do not care. I decided that, for the sake of the story, it would be adjusted. There is also the fact that the 40s, where the story starts, is not showered in period typical racism. I play around with a lot of aspects of history. If you're a history buff, I am so sorry. 
> 
> I follow the plot of the show Outlander, and have borrowed some dialogue directly from it. 
> 
> Warning for the chapter: there is attempted rape, but not graphic and does not make it even remotely close. Still, please be cautious if this triggers you. 
> 
> A HUGE shout-out to Enzhe and Madi, who made this happen in the first place. You guys working through this with me was incredibly helpful, from beginning to end, and it could not have happened without either of you. I love you both.

To nobody’s surprise, things are different after the war--on a very personal level. There are millions around the world who feel the weight of how different things are. Two world wars have come and gone, and everyone has two things to process—they’ve seen the deepest horrors the world has to offer, and they now have to live with them. 

Peter Jones stands at the door of their hotel room in North Carolina, musing on this while Michelle lays a hand gently on the vase of flowers by the window. He can’t help but look at her and roll these things over in his mind. That’s what they’re doing here, anyways—trying to live with the things they experienced separately, when their roles in the war separated them. They want to relearn each other, find something comfortable about their relationship after so many years apart. 

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, ignoring the twist in the pit of his stomach that says he used to be able to answer that. 

“Growing up, I didn’t really stay in one place long enough to have a vase,” Michelle answers. “And I’m looking at this one, wondering why that is. I never really tried to make anywhere a home.”

“You want to have adventure and see the world,” Peter shrugs. When his wife doesn’t pull her eyes away from the vase, he tries a different tactic. “Do you want to go buy one later today? We can take it home, and I’ll make sure there’s always flowers.”

Michelle finally pulls her eyes away. She gives him a quick smile and tucks her hand into the crook of Peter’s elbow. “Don’t think any more about it. I’m fairly sure you like flowers more than I do.”

“They smell nice,” Peter pouts. 

“I used to think about the smell of lavender,” Michelle tells him. “Lying in my cot, missing how you used to work in the garden before working in the lab. Lavender mixed with the smell of sterile tools.”

“You used to love my herb garden,” Peter reminds her. “Especially the lavender.”

“I loved you,” she corrects with a gentle laugh.

Peter tries to not let the wording bother him, and pretends to pout at her dislike of the herbs.

Michelle just smiles, and they make their way out of the hotel. Their car is waiting out front of the hotel as requested, a guidebook in the front seat and a map on the dashboard. They thank the man who prepared the car and ease in with anticipation. While Peter starts the car, Michelle opens the book and nibbles on her lip while flipping for the desired pages. 

“Alright,” she chirps. “So, we’re leaving town, heading towards Moore Creek.”

“And what exactly was so special about Moore Creek?” he encourages. Michelle, being a history professor with family lineage in North Carolina, has been using their trip across the south to acquaint herself with her family tree. The times where Peter sits and listens to her tell him tales of her ancestors during the Revolutionary War are the times where their interactions are the easiest. It’s a far cry from their old habits of Peter talking nervously and Michelle listening in a sort of bemused way. 

Well. As he knows, many things have changed. 

“So, Moore Creek was a frustrating loss for the patriots,” Michelle explains. “There was a patriotic camp nearby, and they were unaware of when the Loyalists would be approaching. A spy in the loyalist forces was supposed to fire a warning shot at the approach, but he was discovered and the warning never came. The loyalists marched on them in their sleep and wiped out nearly a thousand men.”

Peter grimaces. “That’s awful.”

“Terrible,” Michelle agrees. “My ancestor, Eliza, was the only one to survive as a slave girl in the camp. She was sent as a warning, covered in blood and heavily pregnant, to tell the patriots what became of her masters. It was a horrifying slaughter.”

“And that’s why Wilmington stayed under the influence of the Loyalists for so long?” Peter asks. “Until George Washington led a march on the city to gain access to the port?”

“You do listen!” Michelle raises an eyebrow in speculation. “Look at you, Parker.”

“You do know that I’m no longer a Parker, right? Haven’t been since I took your name six years ago in case you’ve forgotten.”

Michelle waves it off and settles back into her seat. “Alright. Whatever. Did you know that a large portion of the regiment that marched on the patriots were Scottish?”

“Scottish? In North Carolina?”

“Yes. In fact, we’re headed to a…high hill in the mountains, near the creek.”

“And that’s why we’re up so early?” Peter teases. “Why my wife dragged me from a warm bed and hearty breakfast to drive and see some sunrise from a mountain top?”

“It’s not just a mountain top,” she stresses. “It’s Halloween. Some of the Scots who have roots here still honor the culture with a small celebration at Craigh Na Dun, where they do an ancient dance to call upon the spirits of Samhain.”

“Scots in North Carolina?”

“Many Scots settled here when the colonies were still colonies.”

“And what do they call on the spirits for?”

Michelle shrugs. “As near as I can tell, just an appreciation of life on earth and a welcome for the spirits to join us for a day.”

“Fun,” Peter says dryly. “And we’re going to watch it?”

“In secret, yeah,” Michelle says.

“So they don’t like intruders?”

“Possibly.”

“And we’re going to intrude?”

“Yes,” Michelle turns up her nose with a lazy lilt of her shoulders. “It’s supposed to be quite enchanting.”

Peter, not wanting to fight, grips the steering wheel and goes on. Michelle has always been headstrong, decisive, and Peter has always been helpless to follow. Since they were children, he’s followed her lead and fallen under her spells. Like the war changed everything, though, it changed this. Peter has seen things, terrible things he never wishes to see again, and there’s a part of him that doesn’t understand his wife's continued need for some kind of adventure. They’re already an unconventional couple. Michelle proposed to Peter, Peter took her name, they mixed race--but they always worked before. Peter’s mild mannered ways and Michelle’s search for the adventure around her balanced each other. Now it feels like they are too far apart on the spectrum. 

Peter doesn’t want to interrupt a sacred celebration. _He_ just wants to sleep in his bed, write books about medicine, and pretend he doesn’t see death every time he closes his eyes. 

_Michelle_ wants to interrupt a sacred celebration. 

Just excellent. 

They come to the bottom of a large hill in the woods. Peter can see that the sunlight hasn’t quite reached the top of it yet, and can appreciate that, at the very least, he’ll get to see a lovely sunrise. 

The structure of Craigh Na Dun is...interesting, to say the least. He’s never seen anything like it. Six standing rocks form a circle, various sizes but all resembling a smooth, flat service. In the very middle is a much larger version of the rest of the rocks, towering above even some of the trees around them. In the low light, there’s not much else to see except the women holding lanterns, draped in loose white fabric, and barefoot as they glide into a circled formation. There’s a high pitched singing in a language Peter doesn’t know, and then they begin to move. 

The women begin to twirl. On top of the singing, varied sounds come from the group that Peter soon realizes is a sort of acapella accompaniment. Low and high tones alike carry so strongly across the hilltop that it creates the illusion of instruments to make an eerie song. Despite how ridiculous the whole thing should be, the hairs on the back of Peter’s neck stand up. In some ways, listening to the music and watching the dance as the sun swells over the mountainside, he gets the keen sense that he is not supposed to be watching. 

This is ancient. 

This is powerful. 

Peter takes a shaky breath, and a single tear slides down his cheek. 

**)-(**

When they’re back at the hotel room, Peter takes a hot shower and crawls back into bed. He sleeps long into the day, knowing Michelle is with another local historian and going to be spending hours at the library. He appreciates that this hasn’t changed--their ability to not spend every moment together, and still feel just as comfortable as ever. She can do whatever she wants, and he can do whatever he wants. 

And that, blissfully, is sleep. 

That evening, when Michelle’s called to let him know she won’t be around for dinner, he isn’t bothered. He thinks back to Craigh na Dun, to a particular kind of flower he remembers glancing at once the dancers left. Part of him thinks he would like to explore it a little more in depth. 

Pleased with the mild weather despite the lateness of the season, Peter throws a sweater over his shoulders, grabs a book and an apple, and heads for the car. 

The ride to Craigh na Dun feels shorter now that he’s awake and able to appreciate the winding roads. He’ll never get used to how different the air is in the countryside than in the city. There’s less pollution, less people, less noise. It’s peaceful, and the crispness of the mountain air adds a freshness that Peter only briefly remembers experiencing in France. 

But, even those memories are tainted with the bloodshed that followed. 

Peter grips the wheel tighter and shakes the memory away. 

This time around, he parks closer to the base of the hill. The sun is starting to set, but Peter isn’t bothered. He simply walks up the hill with his book tucked under his arm and prepares to sit and read until there’s absolutely no way he can see the letters on the page. It’s perfect, the quiet that the hill brings. Part of Peter wants to lay back in the grass, watch the butterflies land on the swamp milkweed and enjoy the color of the flowers. He thinks he can pretend the past doesn’t exist when that happens, when--

His train of thought is stopped by an odd buzzing noise. Peter sets his book aside, swiveling his head to look for the source. There aren’t any bees or flies anywhere near him, but its growing louder as if he should be able to see them. Standing, he sees if walking any particular direction will help him find it. It’s not for a solid five minutes before he realizes that every time he passes the largest stone of Craigh na Dun, the buzzing seems centralized. 

Hesitantly, Peter approaches it. He raises his hands, ready to lean against it with his ear pressed to the stone, when he touches the cool rock and, and--

The world spins, and darkness envelops him. 

**)-(**

Peter blinks his eyes open. 

It’s still sunset, is the first thing he thinks. The back of his head aches, almost as if he’d done that terrible ride at Coney Island too many times again. There’s a heaviness to his limbs that he hasn’t experienced in ages. And again, the sun...it’s still set. If Peter had passed out, for what felt like hours, how could it still be sunset? 

Taking a deep breath, Peter pushes himself into a sitting position. Something in the air feels different--smells different?--and he can’t place it. He turns to look around and almost groans when he sees that his car is no longer at the base of the hill. 

“Great,” he mutters in annoyance. “Someone knocked me out and stole my car. Fucking wonderful.”

Peter stands with a grunt, brushing off his pants and looking around him. The rocks are still in place, but the buzzing is gone. Oddly, his shoes, sweater, and book are also missing. Does that mean that whoever took his car also took his shoes and book? 

_Did the war taken everybody’s human decency?_

He’s chilly, for some reason exhausted, and now he’s going to have to walk back to town barefoot. 

_This day is something else._

Filled with irritation and confusion, Peter sets down the hill. He makes his way as the sun continues to set, rocks under his feet making him curse whoever stole his shoes to kingdom come. It’s one thing to take away his transportation, but the protection for his feet? 

His toes are getting cold. 

_Rude._

As he’s lost in his grumpy, bitter thoughts, Peter hears something coming down the road. He thinks it might be a car, so he turns and waits, only to be faced with a carriage pulled by two horses. 

_What in the hell?_ Peter thinks. He’s so surprised he doesn’t move, frozen in place in the road. The driver yells at him, waves an arm as the horses barrel towards him, and Peter’s gut sinks. _I should move, I should move, I should move-shit!_

Something instinctual sends him flying back to avoid getting run down. Unfortunately, this leads to Peter rolling down a steep hill. He tucks his arms in to better roll, but still feels sticks stab him and vines whip at him as he rolls through dirt and foliage with a frustrated shout. He’s starting to wish he never left the bed hours ago. He should have curled up with his book and waited for his wife to come home. 

As he finally comes to a stop at the base of the hill--or mountain, it felt like--Peter finds himself near a creek. He pushes himself into a standing position, near tears and overwhelmingly frustrated. As he attempts to straighten himself out, he catches sight of someone leaning over the water and feels relief. There’s a horse tied to a nearby tree, and what looks like traveling provisions. It’s an odd thing to see, but he can’t bring himself to care. Maybe he’ll get some help and be able to just _get back to the hotel_. “Excuse me, could you help me? I think I’m lost.”

The person hovering over the stream stands. They turn, and Peter is faced with a man in a military outfit that seems centuries old. Peter vaguely recalls Michelle’s historical figures and wants to say it's very British. Old and British. 

Jesus Christ, Peter is so very confused. 

“Who are you?” the man snaps. He’s broad, with dark hair, a beard, and a weird sort of leer on his face as he wipes the water from his jaw. “There should be nobody around these parts right now.”

“Peter Parker,” he says, deciding to go with his former name. “My car was stolen and I’m lost. I was just hoping that you could point me back to Wilmington.”

The man frowns and comes closer. “I am Captain Quentin Beck of His Royal Majesty’s army. You’d do well to tell me who exactly you are and how you’ve come to find yourself amidst a top secret military operation.”

Peter wrinkles his nose. “What are you talking about? The war’s been over for months now.”

“War?” Beck scoffs. He steps towards Peter again, now much too close. “There will be no war, this futile attempts at separation by your congress--

“What the hell are you talking about?!”

“Who are you, sir?” Beck grabs Peter’s shoulders roughly. 

“I told you, Peter Parker!” Peter snaps, trying to jerk away. “Get your hands off of me.”

“I will let you go when you tell me who you are!”

“Get off me, you bastard!” Peter attempts to shove him away, but Beck only smirks. 

“Ahh, your soft skin and pretty lips make sense then,” he chuckles. “You’ve got the mouth of a whore, and the body of a gentleman. I believe we’ll treat you like the former.”

“No!” Peter yells, trying to pull himself free again, but it doesn’t work. Beck turns him around and pushes his face into nearby rock, embedded in a ridge. Misery fills Peter as he finds himself incapable of moving, pressed against a jagged stone that cuts against his forehead. Blood trickles down his face at the contact. There’s a pathetic sound of breeches being opened, and he feels his heart lodge in his throat at a cool breeze on his backside. This cannot be happening, please God don’t let this happen--

Somebody in the heavens heard Peter’s cry. Before anything progresses, there’s a rustle and a quick _thud._ Peter suddenly feels an emptiness behind and rights his pants again, turning to find the shape of someone Peter hadn’t heard approach. He can’t tell what they look like in the dark shadows of the ridge, but once again Peter finds himself being manhandled. 

“Come, come!” they hiss, jerking at Peter’s arm. They tug Peter behind a tree, blade to his throat and he finally has to accept that he isn’t where he thought he was. This is Wilmington, this is North Carolina--but this is absolutely not the 1940s. All he knows is that there is sharp steel pressed to his skin and he has no idea what’s going to happen.

There’s a sharp pain at the side of his head, and the world goes black once more.

**)-(**

He wakes to the scent of stale whiskey, sweat, and mud that’s very similar to his time in the war. Peter’s mind reels with the horror that he’s stuck in another nightmare, captured by German soldiers and living his days with a gun pressed to his head while he’s forced to care for injured Nazis. He just wants home, he wants his wife, he wants to be anywhere else—

Someone is shaking him. “Come, child. Wake up. We’re almost here.”

Peter blinks into awareness, recognizing that it’s dark out and he’s on the back of a horse, someone riding behind him and holding the reins. A couple hundred yards in front of them is a low-lit cabin, and a collection of horses tethered to posts. The person behind him hops down and removes their hood, revealing a head of red hair and recognizably female features. 

“Come on,” she says softly, reaching a hand out. “Inside, quickly.”

Peter, almost too flustered to care, allows himself to be gently led inside the cabin. When they get through the door, he sees a large group of people scattered throughout. There’s a wooden fireplace, blazing with light. At their entry, every head turns towards them. He scans his eyes across those gathered, making note that they all seem like soldiers. Everyone is armed in some way - whether it be a colored man with two pistols strapped to his back like wings, a long haired brunette that looks like he could use his bare hands to kill someone, or a blonde haired man with a shield at his back and a sword at his hip. Even the woman who brought Peter is armed. He can now see that her hair is flaming red and she’s got multiple daggers placed at her hips. She walks to the side of a man with short sandy hair and a rack of arrows on his back. 

They’re all centered around a man standing by the fireplace who turns towards Peter with an air of authority. He’s got jet black hair braided back, is dressed similarly to the other men in the room, and is currently scratching at a goatee in thought. “Nat. Who is this?”

“I found him near Beck’s camp,” the woman answers. 

“What’s your name, boy?” the leader asks Peter. 

“Peter Parker,” he says, shoulders squared. “And I’m hardly a boy.”

“Peter Parker, hardly a boy,” the man muses. “And you said you found him?”

Nat nods. “When I was scouting ahead to make sure the path was clear. He was having a row with Captain Beck. There seemed to be some confusion about whether or not he was a gentleman or a whore.”

“I’m not a whore,” Peter snaps. 

The man runs his eyes over Peter’s loose shirt, collar open and dirtied, and the fact that he’s only got a pair of ripped pants on—nothing else. “There must have been a reason for the confusion, Mr. Parker.”

“I don’t know where he came from, Tony,” Nat cuts in. “But I do not believe he’s a whore. He doesn’t hold himself like one. He holds himself—

“Like a soldier,” a blonde man to ‘Tony’s’ left cuts in. He frowns over at Peter. “He holds himself like a seasoned soldier.”

“Well,” Tony huffs. “Whatever or whoever he is, we’ll have to figure it out later. Right now, we need to get moving back towards Moore Creek, and we’ve got to do something about the kid.”

For a moment, Peter thinks they’re talking about him. But then he looks over by the fireplace and sees a young man, maybe a little older than him, with a mess of golden curls. Tony looks at him fondly. “You can’t ride like that, correct?”

“I can manage,” the man grits out, drawing Peter’s eyes to his arm. It’s cradled like he’s in pain, and a quick look over the shoulder says it’s out of place. “We need to get past Moore Creek before the battle.”

“He shouldn’t ride, Tony,” the man with the arrows protests.

“I’m not leaving my nephew behind.” Tony snaps.

“But he can’t ride,” Nat snarks back, stepping towards the young man. “You’ll end up hurting him more.”

There’s a terse silence where the blonde man reaches a hand out to Tony, squeezing his arm. “If you want Harley to come with us, we’ve got to try and fix it now.”

“Right,” Tony whispers with a nod. “Then let’s get it back in joint.”

Peter watches in horror as they loosely pick up the man’s arm to put it in place and is completely incapable of stopping himself from shouting, “Stop what you’re doing right now!”

Everyone in the room freezes, shooting glares and looks of disbelief his way. The woman who brought him here steps forward. “What are you talking about, Mr. Parker?”

“You’ll break his arm if you do that,” Peter rushes out. “It needs to be in the right position before it can go back into the joint.”

There’s no more words spoken, but Tony motions to Peter to come closer. Peter dips his head in acknowledgement and walks forward. When he fully steps in front of the other man, he’s almost startled at the way the light casts on sharp features and a strong jaw. Piercing blue eyes look up at him, and sweat causes the blonde curls to stick to his forehead. Tony’s nephew is actually quite pretty. 

_Focus, Pete,_ he thinks. Looking at the man on his left, he clears his throat to avoid seeming terrified, as he realizes its the man he’s certain doesn’t need a weapon to kill him. “Fetch me a cloth or a belt.”

“Fetch me,” the brunette scoffs, looking around to his friends. “As if his appearance leads to that of a lord.”

“Give him the belt, you fool,” Tony orders. “We don’t have time for your pride.”

The man grumbles about it, but jerks at his belt. Peter takes it and gracelessly offers it to Harley to bite. Sharp teeth appear and grit into the leather while Peter arranges Harley’s arm correctly and looks to him for confirmation. When Harley nods, Peter takes a breath and pushes it into place. The man grunts, but the only other sign of pain is the cords of muscle in his neck flexing. A few moments pass, and he lets out a shaky breath. 

“Alright,” Peter mumbles. He takes the belt and uses it as a sling to hold Harley’s arm in place. “You’ll be safe to travel on horseback, but you’ll need rest once we’ve gone where we’re supposed to.”

The company files out of the cabin, Harley standing and leading Peter. He takes his arm, leaning down to whisper, “Ride with me.” Peter, who is cold and tired and irritatingly aware of his time displacement (somehow!), follows willingly as the man leads him toward a horse. Peter is lifted onto the horse with remarkable ease (that’s worth examining later) and Harley swings up behind him. 

When Harley attempts to wrap a cloak around Peter, Peter leans forward. “Really, it’s fine.”

“Please,” Harley says. “I can feel you shaking, and you’ve done me a great service. We have to ride all night, and you’ll need to stay warm.” 

“Alright,” Peter accepts. He’s tired of being cold, anyways. He helps Harley get the cloak over his shoulders before they both work to wrap it around Peter as well. The proximity means Peter has to lean back into Harley. 

For just a little bit, he lets himself enjoy the security and warmth of the man behind him. 

**)-(**

They haven’t been riding for too long when Peter recognizes the area around him. He turns his head just slightly to catch Harley’s attention. “Harley...we’re headed to Moore Creek, aren’t we?”

“Yes,” Harley answers in mild surprise. “You know it?”

_“And what exactly was so special about Moore Creek?”_

_“So, Moore Creek was a frustrating loss for the patriots,” Michelle explains. “There was a patriotic camp nearby, and they were unaware of when the Loyalists would be approaching. A patriotic spy in the loyalist forces was supposed to fire a warning shot at the approach, but he was discovered and the warning never came. The loyalists then marched on the patriots in their beds and wiped out nearly a thousand men.”_

_Peter grimaces. “That’s awful.”_

_“Terrible,” Michelle agrees. “My ancestor, Eliza, was the only one to survive as a slave girl in the camp. She was sent as a warning, covered in blood and heavily pregnant, to tell the patriots what became of her masters. It was a horrifying slaughter.”_

_“And that’s why Wilmington stayed under the influence of the Loyalists for so long?” Peter asks. “Until George Washington led a march on the city to gain access to the port?”_

_“You do listen!” Michelle raises an eyebrow in speculation. “Look at you, Parker.”_

“Yes,” Peter says nervously. “When I was lost around the British camp where the woman—Nat, I believe she’s called—found me, I heard some talk about a patriot spy in the loyalist camp. I believe they’re going to attack you.”

“Our man is going to signal to us,” Harley hisses. “But he will only signal if we’re going to come under attack.”

“I’m telling you, your man is compromised,” Peter hisses back. “Your Wilmington camp is going to be slaughtered because you won’t know they’re coming. Your signal will never come and your men will die.”

Harley grunts in frustration before digging his heels in. The horse speeds up and trots to Tony. “Tony. We need to stop and have a word.”

Though Tony looks irritated, they pull off the trail to tie off the horses as the sun rises. Peter is left on the horse as Harley dismounts with a comforting pat to his arm. He watches Tony and the man who seems to always be by his side talking heatedly with Harley. They glance repeatedly at Peter, Tony with increasing nervousness, and eventually exchange nods while Tony waves his nephew off. 

“Okay,” Harley says when he comes back. “Bucky is firing the warning shot, and patriot forces will have a chance.”

Peter nods. “Thank you for believing me.”

“I confess that I do not know why I did,” Harley shakes his head. “Hopefully, my instincts aren’t wrong about you.”

Peter straightens his shoulders. “Still. Will this make your uncle trust me?”

Harley snorts. “I’m afraid not, sweetheart. If you think Tony’s gonna let you out of his sight now, having information about a Loyalist camp is not going to help.”

Peter resists the urge to pout. He’s been in war, survived some of the ugliest battles the world will ever see; he will not lose it simply because people don’t trust him. 

“How far until camp?” Peter asks instead. “You need rest.”

“It's only another half a mile to the camp, but we aren’t going there,” Harley chuckles. “We’re headed to my uncle’s plantation in Elizabethtown to maintain our cover. The reason we’re traveling at night is because the Loyalists don’t know we’re not Loyalists.”

Peter frowns. “And how far is it until we get to your uncle’s plantation?”

“Roughly thirty miles.”

“You need rest, Harley.”

“There’s no time for rest, sweetheart.”

“I am not your sweetheart, and there should be. Improperly healed bones do more damage than good.”

“You don’t seem to understand the gravity of the situation. The person after us is Quentin Beck, and his discovery of my family as Patriots would be deadly. Even my presence here endangers them.”

Peter has quite a few questions to start with, but can only settle on the name Quentin Beck filtering through his thoughts. He barely recalls Michelle’s lessons, but is able to conjure up the infamous name. “Blackjack Beck.”

“The very one,” Harley snarls. “He’s who tried to attack you. He’s relentless, and will pursue us. Surely you can do something that secures my arm well enough for me to ride to the plantation. We cannot remain here, you witnessed how brutal he is without thought. Our pause is nearly over, we must keep moving.”

Peter purses his lips. “Very well. You will ride behind me as you have been, but once I tighten the belt and add cushion, you will let me take the reins. We’ll have you move as little as possible.”

“You know, for having no money or titles, you’re very domineering. Someone ought to teach you the meaning of manners.”

“Good God.” Peter sees the humorous glint in his companion’s eyes. “You are such a pain in the ass, doll.”

“They’re right,” Harley leans in, lowering his voice. “For someone with gentlemanly skin and fine clothes, you have quite the mouth on you. That normally adds up to whoring around these parts.”

Peter leans down, doing his best to look bothered. “Call me that again and see what happens.”

“Oh, Mr. Parker,” Harley chuckles. “I think you’ll do very well here.”


	2. a lass that is gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By the time the small company stops by the stables of a plantation, Peter’s legs hurt from the grip of the horse. He’s fairly sure his ass is chafed as can be, and he is somehow sweating and cold. The past twenty-four hours since he first woke up to see Craigh Na Dun with Michelle - an event that seems impossible to have only happened one day ago - have been absolutely insane, and he’s nearing his breaking point of exhaustion. He needs to get home, and he has absolutely no idea how that’s going to happen. 
> 
> For now, he supposes, he needs to survive. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, we play hard and fast with the truths of the past and watch Peter make some friends. Thank you for the support!!

By the time the small company stops by the stables of a plantation, Peter’s legs hurt from the grip of the horse. He’s fairly sure his ass is chafed as can be, and he is somehow sweating  _ and  _ cold. The past twenty-four hours since he first woke up to see Craigh Na Dun with Michelle - an event that seems impossible to have only happened _ one day ago  _ \- have been absolutely insane, and he’s nearing his breaking point of exhaustion. He needs to get home, and he has absolutely no idea how that’s going to happen. 

For now, he supposes, he needs to survive. 

A woman comes rushing out of the front doors. She’s wearing what some people might consider kitchen rags, but is well put-together and looks adoringly at Harley. “Harley James, you’ve been away too long.”

Harley embraces the woman. “I’m sorry, you know Tony doesn’t like me being anywhere he can’t see. He’s too protective.”

“Oh shush,” the woman smacks his shoulder. “We’re all trying to make sure you stay safe.”

Harley grins and places an arm around her. “May, meet Peter Parker. He’s a doctor we found in a British camp.”

“Oh?” May raises her eyebrows. “And Tony’s just...let him come here with no question?”

“He was attacked by Beck, helped me with my shoulder, and gave us information he overheard to help avoid a terrible loss.”

“Very well.” May seems to accept what Harley says before she lets her eyes trail over Peter. He makes note of that for later. “He’s skinny. Why do you keep bringing me skinny boys to feed?”

“You like strays just as much as Tony does.”

May rolls her eyes, but holds a hand out to Peter, who is mildly offended—everybody’s been skinny since the war ended, it's not just _him_. “It’s lovely meeting you, Mr. Parker. I’ll show you to your rooms and we’ll get you fed and settled for the evening.”

The doctor in him rears up. “First, I have to look at Harley’s shoulder, apply something cold, and make sure it’s moving the way it needs to.”

“I’m perfectly alright, Peter,” Harley tries to brush it off. “It’s back in place and—

“No,” Peter cuts him off. “We need to find something very cold. It’s November now, surely there’s something around here that’s cold enough to fight inflammation?”

“The lake is starting to freeze over at night,” May hums thoughtfully. “I can send someone to break off some pieces before it’s completely thawed.”

“Perfect,” Peter nods. He looks at Harley. “After Mrs. May shows me my room and gets me settled, I want you there, ready to oblige my every whim.”

“Well,” Harley huffs. “Who am I to argue that?”

Peter follows May through the house. She's chatting excitedly, explaining that the next few weeks are filled with balls and performances to liven up the spirits of Wilmington. "It's the perfect cover, you know, for the men to speak about upcoming battles and plans."

"Oh?" Peter asks lightly. "How many of the Stark friends are Patriots?"

"Now, now," May chuckles. "I'm not giving you any information that you don't already have, young man. You know about Tony's band, but you don't know about anyone else—and it'll stay that way until Tony decides otherwise."

Peter wrinkles his brow. "But there are hundreds of people on this plantation. How do you keep servants and slaves to keep your secrets?"

"Slaves?" May laughs. "Mercy, there are no slaves here! Ross Stark is many things, but a slaveholder ain't one of them. Any negro around these parts is here of their own free will, paid and well cared for."

Peter almost staggers at the relief. "Nobody here is treated as property? But, the laws—”

They turn a corner in the mansion and May smiles as she pushes open the doors to a bedroom. "In the Stark brothers' youth, there was a horrible hurricane that ripped Wilmington apart, including this plantation. Every slave that survived worked to save this family, save the plantation and people in the town. Hundreds of them, loyal to the Starks and proving in the eyes of the city that they saved the lives of Ross and Tony themselves. Ross was carried out of what used to be the barn by a group of men, when others would have left him behind to die. They were all pardoned."

"The financial problems it posed?"

"The Starks are the oldest of old money, dear," May explains. "Money was of no object."

Peter wants to process the information he's just received, but is distracted by May opening the curtains of the room they’re in. Suddenly, he has a clear view of the lake behind the mansion, and the setting sun over the treeline. It's a beautiful view, certainly reserved for guests that the Starks are wanting to impress. 

May is walking around the room lighting lamps. He takes in the striped wallpaper, wooden floors, and painted blue ceilings. The bed is large enough to fit two people, and looks painfully alluring across from a massive fireplace. He wants to examine everything, run his fingers over the carvings of the desk and wardrobes, sink into the mattress, do a million things that aren't standing in the middle of the room like a gaping fish. 

"Someone will be up with a bath and your breakfast in just a few moments," May says. She pats his cheek. “I'll make sure Harley brings you some clothes when he comes up." 

Before Peter can call after her, two men are carrying in an empty silver tub. They place it next to the fireplace, before one of them leaves the room and the other bends in front of the wood. He watches in silence as others follow behind with buckets of water, slowly filling the tub appropriately. It takes a little bit, but by the time the last person leaves the room, the water is still steaming. Not moments later, two servants (who can't be older than fifteen) stride into the room. One carries a tray loaded with food and drink, the other a tray with towels and what Peter assumes are soaps. 

The girl dips into a curtsy while the boy bows.

"My name is Deidre," the girl says. "And this is my brother Drake. We will be tending to you during your visit, Mr. Parker."

"Oh, you don't have to...tend to me," Peter grimaces. "I can bathe and dress myself."

The siblings exchange a look. Drake clears his throat. "With all due respect, sir, Lord Stark insisted."

"Lord Anthony? Or Ross?"

"Ross, sir," Diedre says. "And we don't dare disobey."

Peter purses his lips. "Alright then. You can stay and help, I don't suppose there's any harm in that."

They both look relieved, and they set down their trays near the tub while Drake turns to shut the door. "Would you like to bathe or eat first?" 

Peter looks at the hot water.

"Bath it is," Drake chuckles. "If you wish to disrobe, I will take your current clothes and have them repurposed."

Peter looks down at his torn and dirty clothes. There's honestly no help for them, and even though they're ties to his actual home, he knows they need to go. 

His shorts, however, would be pried out of his cold, dead hands. 

He goes to undress behind the changing screen in the room. When he strips from his pants and shirt, he throws them over the screen for Drake to take. When he slides his shorts off, he folds them up and tucks them out of sight into the chest he finds behind him. Now, he’s stark naked. Increasingly uncomfortable, Peter steps around the edge of the changing screen. Diedre and Drake have their backs respectfully turned, so Peter hurries to ease into the hot water. 

Right as he’s eased into the water, a knock comes at the door. 

“Peter?” Harley calls. “May I come in?”

Peter wants to choke. “Oh, erm—wait, what!”

Drake has the door open before he can answer. “Master Harley.”

Peter feels his heart stop. Harley’s somehow been washed and changed since Peter’s seen him, despite only parting ways twenty minutes before. Harley is giving him an odd grin, one that makes his stomach twist into knots. “Harley.”

“Deidre, Drake, I will attend to Mr. Parker. You’re both dismissed.”

“Of course, Master Harley,” Deidre says, in a tone that is almost mocking. It confuses Peter, as the girl has been so respectful up until this moment as she gives Harley a sassy look while she passes. 

With the doors once more closed, and Harley standing in the doorway, Peter holds his legs against his chest. 

“I won’t see anything you do not want me to see,” Harley says slowly. “But I cannot let go of the feeling that you simply need someone to take care of you right now.”

Peter bites his lip. 

“If you are comfortable with that, of course,” he says. “I could always leave you to yourself.”

The thought paralyzes Peter. He’s suddenly struck with the incredible kindness of the man before him, and he fights back tears. 

“No,” he answers softly. “You may...stay.”

Harley nods. “I give you my word not to irritate my shoulder. It will remain immobile.”

Peter doesn’t answer as Harley walks around him. He hears some situating happening, and worries his lip between his teeth while he waits. It sounds like there’s something being dragged behind him before Harley sits, and one of his hands appears in Peter’s peripheral to reach for a bar of soap. That same hand dips into the water.

“I’m going to wet your hair,” Harley says softly. “You might want to close your eyes.”

Peter obeys, and Harley begins to speak. 

He tells a story of his past. He was once in the fields of his childhood home when he heard screams from his sister. When he ran to her, he found her being held by soldiers while one British officer, Quentin Beck, was holding a knife to her throat. He threatened to rape her because she refused to offer their grain for the Tory cause, but Harley fought them off, despite the threat of imprisonment if he didn’t stop fighting. 

Peter listens to the story of how Harley  _ was _ imprisoned and later publicly punished while Harley rubs soap into his back, shoulders, and hair. He learns that Tony was one of the many witnesses to Harley’s punishment of flogging, and that he helped his nephew escape. Now, Harley’s hidden under the protection of his uncles’ estate and friends and hasn’t been home for years due to the warrant for his arrest. Peter can’t imagine having to go through that, and later not be able to return to his home, but Harley speaks about everything rather calmly. He touches on his sister’s treatment and Beck’s behavior with clear distaste, but otherwise remains level. Peter is surprised by the tone he uses while speaking about it all, and says as much. 

“I have had plenty of anger about it,” Harley says calmly. “But my actions protected my sister, and whatever punishment I took was worth it.”

“Even if it means you can’t go home until Tony can have your name cleared?”

“Her safety is worth any of that.” Harley is admirably resolute, and Peter takes a moment to marvel at the man. “And I have faith in my uncles that I’ll have my freedom. Whether it comes from the law forgiving me, or from a war in America’s favor.”

“I hope your faith is founded,” Peter offers, and he means it.. “We don’t know each other too well yet, but I believe you are not the kind of person to deserve the treatment you’ve gotten. I hope you do get your freedom back and can return home.”

“Thank you, Peter.” Harley's voice is soft again, and he continues his work.

His touch is gentle, and he never goes too far below the water. At the same time, however, he manages to massage tense muscles and make Peter melt into relaxation. As his fingers slide up and into Peter’s hair, he realizes its been long before the war since he’s been touched so tenderly. When he returned, he and Michelle struggled to find their way back to each other. Sleeping in the same bed and occasionally linking arms has been the extent of their physical connection. 

It feels...too good. Comforting. Almost loving. 

“I notice you wear a ring,” Harley says, breaking into Peter’s tearful silence. “You must be very lucky.”

“My wife…” _ is hundreds of years in the future _ . “Is gone. I can’t bring myself to take it off.”

Harley’s hands pause. “I am sorry, Peter. Were you very in love?”

“At one time, she was my very best friend,” Peter says. “But we were separated for a time. We had different roles in a war, and when we came together again, things were empty. I-I regret that now that I will never see her again.”

Something in Peter’s voice chokes off, and he shudders. He dips his head in an attempt to mask his tears. 

“I did not mean to bring up something so troubling,” Harley murmurs. “Please forgive me.”

“No, it’s not-” Peter tries to breathe, but it comes as a sob so he attempts to reign himself in. “There’s nothing to forgive. It’s been so long since I’ve been touched in a kind way, I suppose. You do it so freely, give so much affection to a man you don’t know. It’s startling. On the horse, and now here.”

Thankfully, Harley seems to understand. He doesn’t speak again. Instead, he picks up the pitcher and begins to rinse Peter off. After every rinse, his hands pull at Peter’s curls and let the soap wash away. It takes a minute, and Peter simply cries silent tears while Harley cleans him off, continuing down his arms. When he’s finished there, he moves around Peter and wordlessly offers to clean his legs while keeping his eyes respectfully turned from anywhere appropriate. 

The comfort and relief flows over Peter. He digs the heels of his hands into his eyes and shakes his head at himself. “I’m sorry, Harley. I suppose I haven’t felt so safe in a long time. Every time I think I am, something awful happens. Again, I am so sorry.”

Harley moves to take one of Peter’s hands in his own, drawing them to look at one another. “There is no need to apologize, sweetheart. I know what it feels like to not have solid footing beneath you in life, and to need a kind touch.”

Peter gives him a watery smile. “Thank you. For everything. For trusting me, and vouching for me with your uncles, and making sure I’m cared for. Thank you.”

“I’m glad to do it,” Harley assures him. He doesn’t smile back, but his jaw is set and he looks determined. “I don’t know what’s happened to you in your life thus far, Mr. Parker, but know this: as long as I am near...you will know kindness and safety.”

They don’t talk for some time after that. 

**)-(**

Peter is woken by a shocking wave of cold air. 

He lets out a moan, folding his body in toward the pillows. “Wha-?”

“Peter, it’s past noon!” a feminine voice says as she thumps between his shoulder blades. “You’ve got to get up now.”

Cold, horrible reality crashes down on Peter. 

He’s not in bed, at the Inn with MJ in Wilmington. He’s at a plantation home miles away, with the Stark family. With Harley. In a completely different time. The thought nearly sends him into another tailspin, causing him to curl around his pillow with another groan. 

“Don’t make me,” he grumbles. “Please, I just wanna stay-”

“Damned Northerners,” May hisses, yanking the pillow away and smacking Peter on the head with it. At his cry, she merely rolls her eyes and walks towards the curtains. “You all work with machines, where you can sleep the day away. But here, you have to do the work yourself. Sweat and muscle, boy.”

“A guest has to work? What of southern hospitality?”

“Bah.” May scoffs. “Now, come on, I’ve got some clothes for you. You need to grab a bite to eat while you dress, and then you need to get down to Lord Stark’s study.”

“Which one?”

“Boy. When I say Lord Stark, I am referring to the lord of the plantation. Tony is referred to as simply Tony or Lord Anthony when there’re proper folk around. Stop asking.”

“Yes ma’am.”

May gives him a sweet smile for that, patting his cheek. “Come on. There’s a bowl of cold water to wake you up a bit. There’s an apple there, just to put something in your belly.”

“Why does Ro—Lord Stark want to see me?”

“Who knows,” she mumbles. “He’s an odd character, that one. Wants to fight for the freedom of the Americas and is kind to slaves, but it doesn't make him a good person.”

Peter contemplates this while munching on his apple. He hurries to assure May that he’ll be able to dress himself, and gets to work doing just that. He’s thankful that he’s wearing his shorts from the night before, as it makes the breeches he has to tug on more comfortable. He tucks in the shirt, slides the stockings and boots on, and grumbles with the vest—well, waistcoat, he supposes. 

May raises an eyebrow at him. “You seem to be struggling.”

“I don’t suppose you could help?”

“I offered help, silly boy.”

“Fine.” Peter straightens his shoulders and turns to the mirror in the room. “I can-”

“Oh, you stubborn boy, you’re just as bad as Harley.” May waves her hands dramatically and walks over to him. Tugging his collar, she gives him an affectionate smile and works her fingers through the buttons. “One would think you aren’t a gentleman with how you struggle with this simple outerwear.”

“I am used to simpler vests,” he admits. “The buttons are a different material in my wardrobe. Not as many, either. And the fabric is a little more forgiving.”

“You  _ are _ well-fed, then,” May teases. At Peter’s pouty lips, she chuckles again.”Don’t worry, sweetheart, it is a good sign you are well cared-for. It’s an attractive quality, to be muscular and still hold weight. Many men and women are fond of a solid build.”

Peter raises an eyebrow in surprise. 

“Harley is not shy about his preferences,” May says plainly. “Tony is currently courting Mr. Rogers, and Ross is supportive of their right to love whom they choose. Do you disagree with the lord?”

“I do not,” Peter confessed. He recalls the look of Harley’s profile in the firelight of that cottage and swallows. “Harley is not the only one with certain...preferences, Ms. May.”

“Oh, well,” May says. She gives him a once over. “You look appropriate enough for the lord. Go on, then, Drake is outside and will show you the way.”

Peter steps out of the room. As May had said, Drake is waiting outside the door. He dips his head in acknowledgement and walks wordlessly away, which Peter takes as cue to follow the man. They wind back down stairways and on towards the entrance Peter remembers from before, except Drake veers left. He’s led past a dining room and ballroom, and finds himself in a study that at first looks magnificent, but is actually quite bland. There is a grand oak desk, with nothing on it aside from a few papers and a single quill. Peter thinks it's odd that there’s no ink on it. 

The rest of the room is filled with books neatly aligned on shelves, but very few of the spines look cracked. There’s a moment of mourning as Peter wonders just how many books are being neglected. Books are printed to be read and loved, and instead, they sit on a shelf in a room too bright and too cold for them, looking more important than they are. It’s a goddamn shame. 

“Lord Stark,” he manages to say, dipping into a bow. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

“Of course,” Ross grunts, stepping from behind the desk. He moves as if his legs pose a great difficulty. “It is my understanding you are owed a thank you.”

“Sir?”

“For both treating my nephew’s wound, and for your warning about the Loyalists in Wilmington. We’ve received word that the battle ended in our favor.”

“I am pleased to hear it,” Peter says sincerely. “And to have been of some service.”

Ross hums in acknowledgement. “So yes, you are owed thanks. For this, I trust you are well taken care of by my nephew and his attendants?”

“Yes, my lord,” he replies. “I am quite comfortable, although...I am traveling home and would like to leave soon so I may find my family.”

“Where do you need to go, may I ask?”

Tony, standing by the window, rolls his eyes behind his brothers back and looks out at the lake. 

Peter attempts to remain still. “I need to meet my manservant in Wilmington, my lord. And from there, we will sail north to my family in New York.”

“That’s a risky move, my boy,” Ross grunts. “New York is mostly occupied by Tories. Are you a Tory, Mr. Parker?”

“No, I am not,” he says vehemently. “My family are Patriots.”

“Yet you will just...sail into a harbor in New York?”

“We will find passage to New Jersey, and travel from there on horseback.”

“And what of your spouse?”

“My wife is dead.” Peter wants to die from the guilt of saying this  _ again _ , but soothes himself by thinking about getting back to Wilmington, and back to Craigh Nah Dun. If he does this, he might be able to return through time and back to Michelle, where they can fix things.

“And this is why you are alone?"

“We were traveling from...Jamaica,” Peter says lamely. “My manservant and I. It is where my wife’s family is from. After she passed, I decided to go home. We stopped at the port in Wilmington, and were sight-seeing in the woods when we were come upon by bandits. We were separated, and that was when I came across Captain Beck. He tried to...well, he thought I was of an unseemly nature, and attempted to take what he wished for.”

“That is quite the tale,” Ross says thoughtfully, eyeing Peter as if he doesn’t quite believe it. 

_ Oh _ , Peter thinks miserably.  _ If only you knew. _

“You can understand why I’m so eager to get back to my family,” Peter emphasizes. “Put this all behind me, you see.”

“Of course.” Ross settles back into his seat more comfortably. “Well, Mr. Parker, there will be a merchant traveling through our little town in five days. Until then, you are welcome to have some respite here, as a guest of my home.” 

Peter dips his head in a grateful bow. “I thank you, my lord, for your generous hospitality.”

“It is my pleasure,” Ross assures him. He seems to disregard Peter now, who takes it as permission to leave. He backs out of the room quickly, pleased that he has some sort of plan, but wondering what to do for the next five days. There’s a thought of hiding in his rooms until dinner, but he doesn’t think May would approve of that. 

_ Harley, _ he thinks suddenly.  _ On this entire plantation and this era I’m stuck in, I wouldn’t mind spending time with Harley. _

He stops in the hall, realizing he isn’t sure where Harley even is. He supposes he could pass time by familiarizing himself with the mansion he’s in, but he doesn’t know if he really wants to subject himself with that much attention. 

“What are you stalking about for?”

“I’m not stalking,” Peter retorts immediately. 

Tony walks into his field of vision. “Well, why are you standing outside my brother’s office as if you are?”

“I—” Peter would like to say something sassy, but he doesn’t want to push boundaries after the oddly kind treatment he’s received. “I was hoping you would be able to tell me where Harley spends his afternoons.”

“He’s in the stables, with the horses most often,” Tony answers. He raises an eyebrow at Peter. “You’ve already attached yourself to him?”

“If you mean to ask if I consider him a friend, then yes,” he says. “He’s been kind to me.”

“Harley’s kind to all, you are not special in his eyes.”

“Is that meant to sway me away from friendship?”

“It’s meant to sway you to reality.”

“The reality is that someone being kind to all is a good character trait, and one that is likely to endear him to me even more. Now, if you will excuse me while I seek out more pleasant company.”

Peter has taken two steps, cringing at himself for how little control he seems to have over himself, when Tony clears his throat. 

“I may not like you, Mr. Parker,” he calls out. “But I love my nephew. If you are going to visit him in the stables, it would not be remiss of you to show up with a refreshment. He rarely eats when he is working through the day.”

Peter doesn’t respond, at first, wondering how to ask where he should go. He is saved when he hears a chuckle. 

“The kitchen is down the hall and to the left. Just follow the smell of bread.”

Smiling to himself, Peter continues on. 

He finds May in the kitchen, who begrudgingly offers him a basket of food and a flagon of water. He thanks her with a kiss on each cheek and follows her direction of where to find the stables. The walk there isn’t too long, as he slips out the door in the back and follows a path. Peter can’t deny how beautiful the rolling hills are. The lakes around them reflect the mountains surrounding the property, making Peter itch for his camera to photograph it. The air is clean, untouched by the modern pollution Peter is used to. He has to admit to the appeal of it all. 

Michelle flashes through his eyes, and he once more swallows the guilt away. He can appreciate the scenery of where he is and still yearn to go back home. 

Speaking of appreciating scenery…

“Peter,” Harley smiles brilliantly when he catches sight of Peter. He’s leading a horse out of a ring. It’s unfair, really, how he’s dressed similarly to Peter, and yet looks miles better than him. The shirt fits Harley perfectly, even with his sleeves rolled up and the vest discarded. He manages to look like a royal stable boy, rather than just a servant. It’d be clear to anybody around him that he comes from a rich family, simply in the make of his clothes and how he holds himself. 

“I thought I might bring you some food,” Peter says in response to his name. “As a thank you for your kindness.”

“Well you don’t have to thank me,” Harley chuckles. “But I certainly won’t turn down the offer of a meal. Come on into the stable, it’s much warmer there.”

Peter follows. Harley leads the horse down the middle of the stable, motioning for Peter to pause while he puts the beast in a stall. When the door is latched, he and Peter go to a clean, empty stall, and settle into the hay. There’s a comfortable silence as they relax with the basket between them and begin pulling out the cheese and fruits May sent them. 

Until, of course, Harley crunches into an apple and speaks around it, “How is my uncle treating you?”

“Which one?” Peter asks, breaking off a piece of cheese. “They’re both interesting characters”

“They may be odd,” Harley grins. “But they’re good men, and I think they like you.”

Peter tilts his head in surprise. “I didn’t think they felt one way or the other about me.” 

“No, they are! Believe me, Peter, if my uncles didn’t like you, it would be very clear. Especially Tony, he doesn’t pretend to like people he doesn’t.”

“I can see that,” Peter says. “May I ask something else about your uncles?”

“Of course.”

“Why is it that I’m being treated so well? I’ve been given help from May and Drake and Diedre, clothes, food...it confuses me.”

Harley drops his eyes and clears his throat. “Well, my uncles have a soft spot for me, I suppose. Ross is a little wary of you, but Tony likes you, and I wanted you comfortable until you could travel home.”

“So essentially, your uncles have a soft spot for you, and you have a soft spot for me?”

There’s color on Harley’s cheeks. “I like to think you have a soft spot for me as well, Mr. Parker.”

“So confident,” Peter can’t help but tease.

“I was raised by Tony, it’s not my fault,” Harley grins. “I’m aware of my charms.”

“Why were you raised by Tony?” Peter asks, eager to change the subject. “If I may ask, of course.”

“You may. My parents died when I was very young, and my mother had asked her brothers to be an influence in my life. Ross didn’t seem to think he should have to. Tony, though, traveled to live with Abigail and I until I turned sixteen. After that, when I was under the watch of a trusted friend, he still traveled to us often. He taught me how to hunt, how to fish, how to fight and survive in the wilderness. He taught me about acceptance of yourself and how to fight for those who you believe in.”

“Well,” Peter says, impressed. “He truly must be soft for you.”

“Give him time to show you his real self,” Harley suggests. “Then you’ll meet the man who convinced Uncle Ross to hide me here from Captain Beck.”

Peter swallows his water, recalling their conversation from the night before. “That’s another thing that’s been bothering me.”

“You have many questions.”

“I’m a man of science, I like to have all my information.” 

“Oh very well,” Harley says. “Go on, then.”

“How is it possible to hide you here? There are so many people on the land. Can all of them truly be sworn to secrecy?”

“Every person here is loyal to my family,” Harley tells him. “The slaves who have freedom and chose to stay, Tony’s band of loyalists, and even Ross’s friends that live nearby. None of them would ever consider telling of my location. As long as I keep to myself and do my part, I’m safe here.”

“And where are you not safe?”

“Greenville. My father’s land was where I got into trouble with those Loyalists and Beck.”

“And who is taking care of your land?”

“My sister, the stubborn woman she is. Wouldn’t come with me because she wanted to look out for our home.”

Peter has the urge to ask more, but refrains. He’s probed enough for one day. “Home has a strong pull. I hope you can return to yours sometime. I understand what it’s like to be far away."

“I know you do,” Harley settles a hand on Peter’s shoulder in comfort. “Have my uncles said that they’re comfortable with you leaving?”

“I leave in five days.”

“Then until you depart, we will take good care of you so that you may return safely to your home.”

“You have a lot of assurances, Harley,” Peter tells him softly. “Do you know that?”

“I do. And you should trust that I mean them.”

Because Harley’s given him no reason to doubt, Peter does. 

**)-(**

After Peter leaves the barn and Harley's company, he has to sneak around the backside to avoid Steve and Bucky lurking out front. To avoid the watchful eyes of Tony's closest friends, he slips through the woods. Part of his subconscious catalogs it for possible ways to leave if necessary. When he spots a path already made, he decides to adjust the basket of food more comfortably and continue climbing. There's a little slice of appreciation for the plants he might be able to find. 

After all, he only has so much self-control. He’s a doctor—is he supposed to just walk away from the natural medicine around him?

He’s walking up the hill when the sight of red and green catches his eye. He can’t stop his mouth from dropping open slightly as he realizes it’s goldenseal. The plant has so many uses when its golden roots are dried. Peter knows how beneficial the plant can be for patients distrustful of modern medicine. Here he has a hillside of it, when back home it's difficult to procure. 

Without hesitation, he kneels in the grass and begins to dig. 

He’s got four of the plants dug up and wrapped in cloth from May’s basket, tucked back into the wicker when a throat clears in front of him. He jumps, looking up to see a woman with flowing blonde hair, a few twigs in it, and dressed very simply. She’s got a shawl wrapped around her shoulders, dirt on her knees, and a pink nose that Peter guesses is from the cold. 

“Defiling the earth, are we?” she snarks, amusement dancing behind her smirk. 

“Is it defiling when we take what the Lord has granted to us?” Peter presses. “The plants are here for a purpose, as long as moderation is employed. It is also hypocritical of you to accuse me of this when you have been doing much the same thing.”

The woman tilts her head back and laughs with her entire body. “Yes, indeed. My name is Mrs. Elizabeth Leeds, but you may call me Betty.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Betty,” Peter dips his head respectfully. “My name is Peter Parker.”

“Peter Parker, the plant destroyer.”

“ _ Dr. _ Parker, the plant destroyer, thank you very much.”

Betty eyes him. “I like you, Mr. Parker.”

“You do not know me.”

“Then you shall have to give me the chance.”

“And why should I?”

“Well, because I’m interesting, of course.” Betty flicks hair from her shoulder. 

“May I ask how so?”

Betty laughs. “Have you not been told of how they suspect I am a witch?” 

“Well,” Peter chuckles back. “As I am a stranger to this land, I suppose I shall fall victim to your wiles.”

“What a fun victim you shall be,” Betty teases. “Shall I show you where the best herbs are?”

“I would be honored,” he offers an arm cordially, which Betty takes with a soft squeeze. It doesn’t thrill him the way it does when Harley touches him, but he senses the bemusement she sends his way. 

He now has two allies, it would seem. 

**)-(**

The rest of the week passes surprisingly easily. Peter lends his services to May, cleaning and doing manual labor in the kitchens as a thank you for her kindness. He spends time with Harley in the stables, mucking stalls and brushing the horses. When he isn’t with one of them, Peter is going on afternoon walks with Betty, gathering herbs for the plantation’s stock. He learns quite a bit about his new friends in that time, and has to frequently remind himself that he shouldn’t be quite so attached. 

“There is a wall between us,” Betty comments one evening, leaving him at the break in the woods so he can return to the plantation. “I can feel the hesitancy to open yourself up.” 

“I am leaving in a few days,” he replies. “It would do me no good to miss you as terribly as I think I might.”

He isn’t lying when he says this to her. Betty is a woman who has no thought for the opinion of others. She’s shrewd, quick, observant—she loves to tease and to dance and acts uninhibited despite her company. Even in the future, he doesn’t think he knows anyone quite like her. Even when he prefers to be alone, he doesn’t mind her company. 

“You have caught me in my endeavor to keep you,” she teases then, leaning into him for an embrace. Peter opens his arm to the other woman. She smells like dirt and the mint she grows on her land. “I will miss you and your company, Peter Parker.”

“As I will miss you,” Peter says honestly. He doesn’t speak of seeing her again some time, or visiting him up North—he could not get the lie to pass through his lips if he tried. Instead, he presses a kiss to her hair and walks away without turning back. 

His goodbye with Harley and May feels quite similar. 

“You have both been so kind to me,” he tells them, holding both of their hands. “I will forever be grateful for your consideration of me.”

“Oh, dearest,” May smiles, pulling him close. “I have enjoyed every minute of taking care of you. I will certainly never forgive you if you don’t write.”

“We shall see how the war goes,” Peter swallows, but once again makes no promises. “Thank you, May.”

May steps back and allows Harley to grasp Peter’s arm in a friendly gesture appropriate of their relationship for the public eye. It doesn’t mean Peter lacks the urge to wrap Harley in a tight hug. “I appreciate your help, Peter, with my shoulder and our battles and the stables. Your company has been...something I look forward to every day. I am not ashamed to say I will notice your absence.”

Peter, holding on to Harley’s arm, has no earthly idea how to respond to that. 

Just when he opens his mouth to stammer out some sort of reply, he hears Tony calling across the courtyard. He drops Harley’s arm and turns to see the man standing at the pathway that winds around the gardens out back. Tony raises an arm, beckoning Peter. He thinks Tony must be wrong, but when Harley starts forward, Tony shakes his head and points resolutely at Peter. 

“I believe I’m being summoned again,” Peter huffs. He looks to the merchant, who is still busy loading his cart, and glances back to Harley. “Please don’t let him leave, doll, if you don’t mind one more favor.”

Harley’s lip quirks at the endearment, and he gives a short nod. 

Peter follows the path, meeting Tony at the corner of the house. “Yes?”

“I want you to know that I have nothing to do with this,” Tony tells him, almost seeming like he’s regretful. “But these are my brother’s lands, and he’s my lord. Now, come with me.”

Seeing Steve and Bucky out of the corner of his eye, he figures that it isn’t best to argue, and follows Tony behind the house. 

He’s led down to the path and to a stone building not too far from the house. It’s quaint, but large enough to comfortably fit a significant amount of people. Peter is led inside to find that it is only one room, with two cots, a desk of sorts, and shelves covered in glass bottles and rudimentary doctor's supplies. It is well stocked and freshly cleaned. Peter knows that these things, along with Ross leaning against a cane in the middle of the cottage, bears ill news for him.

“We have many people staying in our home,” the lord says calmly. “And a number of those people are loyal patriots, who endanger themselves and return to us in need of care. We have over a hundred former slaves, living on the property, who are also in need of care. Having a doctor on the premises is always so helpful.”

Peter doesn’t respond, jaw locked. 

“Our last doctor died of old age,” Ross continues. “I believe it would be beneficial for us to have you on hand, working as a doctor in exchange for the roof over your head and the food in your belly.”

Peter somehow finds the words. “And yet I am departing this morning.”

“I don’t believe you are,” Ross chuckles. “You will be well taken care of here, Mr. Parker. I suggest you write to your family.”

“You have no right to keep me here.”

“You were rescued from a Loyalist camp and had unheard-of knowledge.”

“My knowledge helped your men and your Patriots!”

“You spend a suspicious amount of time with an accused witch.”

“Elizabeth Leeds has not been accused, she is a  _ judge’s wife _ and deserves more respect than that.”

“You are not leaving, Mr. Parker, so you may as well cease your arguments.” Ross’ voice is loud, sharp, and Peter doesn’t miss how Tony steps forward, distrustful eyes on his brother. “Step back, Anthony.”

Tony freezes. 

“You will be protected,” Ross continues. “You will be fed, and clothed, and free to keep whatever company you so desire.”

“I will be a prisoner.”

“You will not be treated as such,” Ross says with a false cheeriness to his voice. “Unless, of course...you attempt to leave.”

Peter is  _ trapped.  _


	3. say, could that lass be i?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter tells Betty that Harley is awakening confusing feelings with his kindness and beauty. 
> 
> “And this is a problem for you?” Betty questions. “Not to cause offence, but you are no longer married.”
> 
> Peter looks down at the amber liquid in his cup. It’s more complicated than that, he thinks.
> 
> Aloud, “That doesn’t change that I am a prisoner here.”
> 
> “Through no fault of Harley’s.”
> 
> “It doesn’t make it less complicated.”
> 
> “I believe you are making it more complicated than it needs to be,” Betty tells him flatly. “You are alone in a forgein place, desiring companionship, and this handsome man comes to you and swears his loyalty and protection. You’re only human, love.”
> 
> “I suppose,” Peter sighs. “But I also hardly know the man.”
> 
> “Time is irrelevant."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> continuing to send love to those who are reading, and continuing to play around with non-accurate history.

The following few weeks are frustrating. Not necessarily bad. Simply  _ frustrating. _

Peter recognizes a certain futility about the possibility of escape. He doesn’t spend every waking moment thinking of how to slip past his guards—since his first day with Betty, he hasn’t been able to get around them. Everywhere he goes, he catches a glimpse of Steve, Bucky, Nat, Clint, or Sam. Even when he’s in Harley’s company or sitting in his workshop, there are always a set of eyes watching him. 

So, he decides to take away the distrust. Peter is going to work hard to make them see that he’s trustworthy, so he does just that. He works hard. 

The first day he spends in the workshop, it’s going through every leftover supply he can find. He cleans, organizes, builds new shelves and fixes old ones...he makes it seem as if he’s resigned to his fate and is ready to put in the elbow grease. Though he struggles to mix his understanding of modern medicine with the ancient tactics—including leeches and the human skull crushed into powder—he believes he finds a balance in his knowledge of natural herbs and tinctures. 

His biggest help, he finds, is Betty. They continue to spend their afternoons in the forest, guards at their heels while they gather herbs. They go back to Peter’s cottage and mix their potions, dry their herbs, and treat the people of the Stark property. Though Betty has a husband she loves, he works long hours as a judge in the town. Thus, she is free to spend her days as she wishes.

“And,” she giggles, flicking water from her cup at Peter. “I choose to spend them with you.”

“Did you know that you two are having an affair?” Harley informs them from his perch at the window. He’s eating his lunch and watching them prepare goldenwood tinctures. “You make much more than potions in here.”

Peter frowns and looks to his guards for the day, Samuel and Natasha. “Do you all do nothing to dispel the rumors?”

“It’s just talk,” Sam shrugs. “Nobody believes them, everyone is aware of how much Mrs. Elizabeth loves her husband.”

“And how is that?”

“Judge Leeds came under attack one day,” Natasha says, her tone carrying the boredom it always does as she twirls a knife in her hand. “But when Mrs. Elizabeth saw the man coming towards her husband, she dove in front of the knife herself.”

“I can never have children,” Betty wipes her hands on her apron. “But I never wanted them any more than I wanted my husband.”

Peter sets the flask in his hand down, reaching for her. “I would be honored to be accused of having an affair with a woman such as you.”

Samual snorts, Natasha smirks, and Harley nearly chokes on his apple. Betty lets out a full-bellied laugh, leaning her head on Peter’s shoulder as she shakes. Peter accepts the embrace and lets himself acknowledge that biding his time here, with these people, is not so terrible. He doesn’t know if he will ever get back to Michelle. If he can’t, then laughing among people he could count as friends—that couldn’t be so bad, right?

Anyways. If he can get his guards to loosen up around him…

The laughter is interrupted by a knock at the door. Samuel pulls it open, only to nearly be run over by a May with tears in her eyes. Peter frowns at the sight and reaches for her. “May, what is it?”

“My husband,” she says in a choked off whisper. “My husband...is possessed.”

Peter notes how the others in the room step back with widened eyes. He fights the urge to scoff and takes May’s hands as they shake.

“The minister is coming tomorrow to see how bad it is, but...oh, I’m terrified my Ben won’t make it until then,” May sniffles, looking as if she’s barely holding it together. “He’s in an awful state. Is there anything you can do to make him better, Peter? Please, I beg of you.”

“I’ll do my best,” he tells her. “I need to see him first, though, I’m not...I have never treated someone who was supposedly possessed.”

“At least give him rest,” May pleads. “Just a bit, until the minister returns to town.”

“Of course,” he answers. He sets aside his worries of exorcism and thinks about how to help the man in this moment. “Looking over to Sam, he motions. “Will you fetch my bag and accompany me to May’s quarters?”

Sam nods sharply, and they make quick work of their business. The walk to May’s cottage on the premises is not too far, but the woman is distraught as she leans heavily on Peter, silent in fear. He can gather the seriousness of the situation from May’s lack of witty comments or strong hold of her shoulders. In his time here, he hasn’t once seen the woman look anything other than strong and solid. To see her shaken reminds Peter that to these people, this is devastating. 

In the cottage are two people Peter recognizes as Ben Parker’s brother and wife. The wife, Mary, is pressing a cloth along the sweating brow of Ben, whose gaze is somewhere beyond their plane. The brother, Richard, steps to May and takes her hands from Peter. 

“He’s exhausted,” he tells her. “Yet he cannot rest. Something unseen plagues him.”

“The devil has come for my husband,” May says weakly. She turns to Peter. “Can you give him some peace until tomorrow?”

“I can try,” he assures her. He looks to Sam, who opens Peter’s bag. “I need the black cohosh, there’s a tincture made from it and labeled. It’s clear—yes!”

Peter takes it and pours some into the bowl of water at Mary’s side. He takes a fresh cloth, soaks it, and instructs Richard and Sam to hold his arms down. The two men do so, giving Peter the space to take the cloth and drip the moisture into Ben’s mouth. The man turns from it. Peter persists, however, until the cloth has been rung and the liquid has slowly trickled down Ben’s throat. 

“Give it just a moment,” Peter tells them. When he begins to calm and his heart rate slows, have him drink some water. Then Mary, you keep doing what you were before, this time with the water and cohosh mixture. Can you do that for me?”

She nods. 

“Good,” he tells her. “I’ll be back to check on him in the morning. I do not feel wholly comfortable with an exorcism.”

May gives him a searching look. “What do you mean?”

“Just that I’d like to come back and make sure he’s alright,” Peter says. “If you’re comfortable with it, I’d like to be here when the priest comes so I can ask about the process and meet him. These things can often be very violent and sometimes do more harm than good.”

May purses her lips. 

“I need you to trust me, May,” he says seriously. “Before the exorcism tomorrow, let me see Ben again and speak to the priest.”

Her eyes search his face for a moment before she pulls him into a hug. “I trust you, darling. I will wait for you to speak with the priest. Thank you for what you’ve done so far, you don’t...you don’t understand what my husband is to me.”

“Of course,” he says. “Come get me if anything changes and he needs more help.”

“I will.”

Peter kisses her cheek, and leaves her to her husband. 

Steve is coming over the hill when they exit the cottage, looking somewhat regretful. “Sam? I’ve got it from here.”

Sam doesn’t argue, only nods and walks back towards Peter’s workshop. Peter stares at Steve, unimpressed.

“Don’t give me that look,” Steve sighs. “Ross wants to see you.”

“Of course he does,” Peter grumbles. “What now?”

“You’re a doctor,” Steve says. “He needs a doctor.”

This gives Peter pause. “For what?”

“The last doctor used to massage his legs for the pain.” Steve takes Peter’s bag from him and throws it over his shoulder. “So you’ll be doing the same. Storms are on the horizon, so his pain is increasing.”

_ Storms are on the horizon _ , Peter thinks.  _ So dramatic _ .

“Are you close with Ross, then?” he asks instead, intending to make the walk easier. If he’s going to gain the trust of Tony’s guards, why not start with the man closest to him?

“I’m close with Tony,” Steve says, eyeing Peter. “You are aware that we’re lovers, yes?”

“Yes,” Peter tells him. “I assumed that meant you were close with Tony’s brother.”

“I hear much about him,” Steve shrugs. “But I am not close to him. I’m not nobility, and disgraced in the eyes of the British army.”

“For what?”

Steve glances sideways. “Who I am, the way I am in love with Tony. It was found out, and I was dismissed from the troops here.”

“That’s why you’re a patriot.” Peter nods. “Freedom to be who you are, openly, is a largely American belief.”

“There are those, particularly in the southern regions, who disagree. But I am open with myself, and Tony is open with me, and I have a place in these lands I am grateful for. I will fight for what I think is right, Tony at my side.”

“You believe in this cause.”

“My life  _ is _ the cause, Mr. Parker.” 

“So do you not trust me, as Ross apparently does not?”

Steve stops walking, just outside the house, and turns to look at Peter. “It’s not that I actively think poorly of you, Mr. Parker. But there is no reason for me to trust that this fight, my most important fight, is safe in your hands. You have too much information on the workings here, on our fight for freedom. Your knowledge of an enemy camp was too great, us finding you too much of a coincidence. Until we have reason to not think you are a spy, you cannot be ruled out as one.”

“Why would I spy on my own people?”

“We are not your people, Mr. Parker.”

“You  _ are _ ,” Peter insists. “You...and Tony and Harley. You are all my people, and I know that the British do not believe we have rights to marriage or public decency, despite the legality of it, it is still-”

“You are a homosexual?” Steve asks, clearly surprised. 

“Not exactly,” Peter cringes. “Not many understand, but I have a desire for both-”

“Male and female,” Steve finishes in understanding. “Tony is the same.”

“Oh,” Peter says. “Well, good. So you understand. I want the same freedom you do. I want to stay in an America where officers do not get ostracized from the company, where I am not doubted at every turn for my capabilities because of who I might love.”

Steve stares for a long time at Peter, taking in his new information. Peter wonders if this was a mistake, if he revealed himself to Tony’s lover and this information will be used against him. He doesn’t have any reason to be believe Tony is against him the way Ross is, but he can’t shake the fear. 

“I cannot vouch for others,” the man says calmly. “But I believe you are telling the truth.”

“I don’t want others to know, quite yet.” Peter rushes out. “May and Betty know, but...nobody else here. I’m not quite ready.”

“When you are ready is your choice,” Steve agrees. “So I will keep it to myself.”

Peter sags in relief. 

“Though if I may not share this information, I do not understand why you told me.”

“You may not trust me,” Peter says, finding himself telling the truth even as he thinks of it. “But I trust you. It’s nice to have someone who knows who you really are.”

Steve looks like he completely understands that. 

**)-(**

“Mr. Parker.”

The room Ross is in seems like a bathroom. There’s a large tub of steaming water that the lord is reclining in. The doors are shut, and a fire blazes in a fireplace taller than Peter can reach. It feels unnecessary, an ostentatious fire hazard, but has the desired effect: the chill is completely gone from the room.

“So glad you could join me,” Ross continues. The man rises from the tub (with the help of his servants) and Peter’s eyes stay on his face. “My last doctor would help massage the pain from my legs on particularly difficult nights. I believe you shall do the same.”

“Of course, my lord,” Peter answers, motioning to a high-rise cot. “I presume this is where you’ll be?”

Ross affirms before stepping from the tub. He limps towards the cot, barely drying himself so that Peter can assist him in laying face down. He dismisses the servants. That leaves him alone with Peter, who takes lavender and eucalyptus oil in his hands. He hesitates, thinking of Ross’s condition in his current times versus the future. 

“Why the hesitation?” Ross sneers. “Are you as repulsed by me as everyone else in this godforsaken town?”

“No, sir,” Peter says. “In your last doctor’s notes, he said he would massage the legs directly, yes?”

“Indeed. You disagree?"

“I believe if I massage the lower back, it might be more beneficial to you.”

Ross grunts his approval, so Peter reaches for the base of his spine and begins to apply pressure the way he was trained. Ross groans and buries his mouth into the pillow. There’s a blissed out look of pleasure on his face that makes Peter uncomfortable—Ross hasn’t shown any attraction to him, he knows, but his feelings toward this man are not pleasant, at the least. He wishes to be anywhere else. 

Except he is a doctor, and someone is in pain. 

He continues to work. 

“You seem contemplative,” Ross says into the silence. “Speak your mind, Mr. Parker.”

“I was thinking about the cook, May. Her husband and his...possession. It’s quite sad.”

“Eh,” Ross sighs. “We all told him not to go hunting up at the Devil’s Lair. He knew better, but he chased that damned buck the whole way. He was there for but a minute, but he came back down with a stick of wood garlic in his mouth and that buck on his shoulder.”

“The Devil’s Lair?” Peter presses, arms beginning to gain a familiar soreness. “You are superstitious, my lord?”

“I’m no fool,” he retorts. “It never fails: someone ventures up that hill, and...well, they come back, but they don’t come back right.”

Peter doesn’t comment further on the matter, mulling it over in his head. There must be something about that location, about the ‘Devil’s Lair’ that makes people sick. However religious the others around him are, Peter is less impressed with the concept of possession. Surely there is a clinical answer for this. 

He needs to see the infamous Lair. 

Ross begins talking about the gathering that night, and Peter’s thoughts are pulled away. 

**)-(**

For the party, May is still by Ben’s side, so Peter is given clothes by Drake and Dierdre. They outfit him in something plain, the jacket and shoes helping dress up an otherwise bland outfit. Diedre tells him that he makes anything look exotic, and Drake hints that Harley’s favorite color is green (the color of the jacket they’ve buttoned him into).

“Am I so obvious?” Peter mumbles irritably. 

“No,” Drake chuckles. “I am that observant.”

They laugh and send Peter on his way. 

As he walks, he thinks about Harley. It’s not that he’s got a crush, exactly. He simply feels safe around the other man. Harley’s pledges to take care of him and protect him, to comfort him, have now been ingrained on Peter’s mind. In this foreign land where he doesn’t truly know anyone, Harley is his ally and friend. 

He just so happens to be the most beautiful man that’s ever existed. 

He ponders all of this while he makes his way to the dining room. It’s a beautiful space, with a long table elaborately set. The china is so white it nearly sparkles, and there are more forks at one setting than Peter’s truly comfortable with. He almost wishes he hadn’t tried to pass himself off as a gentleman, because he truthfully hasn’t got a clue which ones need to be used when. 

“Work from the outside, in,” a voice says in his ear. He turns to see a redheaded woman with elaborately braided hair and a deep blue gown linking arms with a broad shouldered man with sandy hair. For a moment, he prepares to introduce himself before he blinks and realizes he’s looking at Nat and Clint. She’s dressed like a proper lady, and looks as comfortable as she does when wearing breeches and sparring with the men. 

“Natasha,” he says in surprise. “I did not think…”

As he looks around, Peter realizes that all of Tony’s company are present and dressed as if they belong. He doesn’t know anyone's background aside from Steve’s but he’s surprised. 

“We have to mingle,” Clint says as explanation, looking very much on _her_ arm instead of the other way around. “Tony wants us established among Ross’ friends so that they’re fond of us. You never know when it comes in handy.”

“And Harley’s safe with them here?” Peter frowns.

Nat waves absentmindedly at someone across the room, looking perfectly normal to someone who doesn’t know she’s always collecting knowledge. “Believe me, Harley is perfectly safe with this group. Ross' birthday celebration coming up will bring those who we are not quite sure can be trusted, and Harley will need to remain absent. For the next few nights, though, he is safe." 

Peter hums thoughtfully, and follows Nat's instructions to take a place of honor next to where the lady of the house will sit. When he questions why, Tony only chuckles. "If you're sitting next to her, she's the one who wants you there."

"But why?" Peter asks, watching Steve sit next to Tony, where he's across from Peter. "We've not met before."

"Pepper likes to know the people under her roof," Harley answers. "Ross may be in charge, but don't be fooled by societal expectations. Pepper has her own power." 

Dinner is actually quite enjoyable, thanks to the distraction of Lady Virginia. For some odd reason, she goes by Pepper, and she entertains Peter with talk of her child’s brilliance in her studies. The woman is sharp, telling Peter all about the people joining them for the night. He learns who to avoid, and how to escape conversation if trapped, and who is bearable to speak with. Through this, he finds that she sees all and believes none of the bullshit her company tries to pass over. 

_ She’s another remarkable woman of this time _ . Peter finds himself thinking that MJ would adore her. 

She sometimes speaks across Peter to converse with Harley, who speaks to her fondly and as comfortably as he might any of Tony’s merry little band. Through the way Pepper returns his smiles and always him ‘my dear’ Peter guesses she’s just as fond of him. 

Apparently, everyone is entranced by Harley. 

After dinner is finished, Peter is led to the dancing parlor. A pianoforte sits in the corner of the room, and Peter watches in surprise as Clint makes his way to it. He barely lets his fingers dance across the keys before Harley is in front of Peter, tentatively holding a hand out. 

"Would you like to dance?" he asks softly. "It would be...an honor, if you'd let me lead you in one." 

Peter's mouth goes dry. "I'm dreadful at it."

"I can teach you." 

Against his better judgement, Peter says yes. 

**)-(**

The next morning, over tea and scones, Peter tells Betty that Harley is awakening confusing feelings with his kindness and beauty. 

“And this is a problem for you?” Betty questions. “Not to cause offence, but you are no longer married.”

Peter looks down at the amber liquid in his cup.  _ It’s more complicated than that _ , he thinks.

Aloud, “That doesn’t change that I am a prisoner here.”

“Through no fault of Harley’s.”

“It doesn’t make it less complicated.”

“I believe you are making it more complicated than it needs to be,” Betty tells him flatly. “You are alone in a forgein place, desiring companionship, and this handsome man comes to you and swears his loyalty and protection. You’re only human, love.”

“I suppose,” Peter sighs. “But I also hardly know the man.”

“Time is irrelevant,” Betty scoffs, unknowingly making Peter choke on his own tea. “Anyways, tell me about the rest of the party. How did it go?”

Peter colors. “I spent most of it dancing with Harley or listening to the music with him.”

Betty tsks with a sly grin. Peter wants to argue, but whatever weak comment he could say is interrupted by a soft knock at the door. It swings open to reveal a portly man with kind eyes and a smile aimed right at Betty. It feels intrusive, suddenly, to stand there as Betty’s face lights up. Her posture relaxes as she rises to smooth hands over her husband’s chest. Simultaneously, they lean in for a kiss.

“My love,” Betty says softly. “What brings you here?”

“As much as I delight in seeing you, I came for Mr. Parker,” the man says. He turns and dips his head in acknowledgement. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Parker. I am Judge Leeds, Betty’s husband.”

“It’s my honor to meet you,” Peter tells him. “Betty talks about you all the time, all praises. Though...I must admit I’m slightly confused on what you sought me out for.”

“Yes.” the judge’s face falls. “I have a young man, who stole some grain to feed his family. The law requires a punishment, but I’m loathe to do it. I must uphold the law, however. At minimum, the boy will get an hour with his ear nailed to the terrace outside my chambers.”

Peter grimaces. “How medieval.”

“Indeed,” Leeds agrees. “I knew you were here. I hoped you might be able to give me something to help the boy’s pain, as well as something to clean up the blood afterwards.”

“The law does not require that of you,” Peter says curiously. “Most judges would give a punishment of jail time or taking a hand.”

“I will not hurt someone for trying to feed his family when Ross is selfish with his resources.” Leeds scoffs. “Is there anything you can do for him?”

Peter smiles. “Yes, there is.”

By the time Harley comes to collect Peter to return to the plantation, Ned (who insists Peter calls him by his first name), has a numbing agent to apply to the boy’s ear before he’s nailed to the terrace. He also has strict instructions to clean the wound after, bandage it, and apply more of the numbing agent to help keep pain low. He and Peter have also persuaded Harley to let the young boy work in the stables under him, as to earn some coin and hopefully avoid needing to steal to eat. 

“The honorable Judge Leeds,” Peter says thoughtfully as they ride back to the plantation. “He’s a good man. I look forward to spending more time with him.”

“Careful, love,” Harley tells him, a teasing lilt to his voice. “People will think you’re soft on the judge too, soon enough.”

Peter can’t help but roll his eyes. “People need to find something better to do than gossip about other people's love lives.”

“If that’s what you like, coming to the country was not your best decision.”

“Oh? We’re pretending it was my decision, then?”

Harley laughs, heads falling back and shoulders tucking just so. Peter can feel it where his arms are at the other man’s waist. “Very well, my friend. Tell me, if it was your decision, where would you go right now?”

Peter thinks about telling the truth, for just a moment. Harley can’t be too terribly religious, after all - he’s got some of the same leanings as Peter. He might not react poorly to Peter’s ramblings about the stones, about time travel, calling him a witch and clamoring for the stake. 

_ Even if he doesn’t think I’m a witch, he’ll probably think I'm psychotic. _

“The Devil’s Lair,” he says instead. 

Harley tenses. “It’s not safe there, Peter.”

“I need to go there,” Peter insists. “I need to see what’s there. It’s possible that something else is the cause of Ben’s sickness.”

“You doubt that demons have possessed him?” 

“I believe all other possibilities should be examined and eliminated before an exorcism. When I checked on Ben before leaving for Betty’s, May said the priest is coming this afternoon. I intend to have explored those possibilities before he arrives.”

“And you must go to the Devil’s Lair to do this?”

“You don’t even have to take me. Just tell me how to—”

“Absolutely not,” Harley cuts in. He gives Peter a long-suffering sigh. “Hold tight, sweetheart.”

“Thank yo—oh!”

Peter’s vision blurs for a moment as Harley encourages the horse to take off. When everything clears and he simply takes in the world around him, Peter is shocked he hasn’t appreciated it enough before. Harley is steering them towards a valley. It gives Peter an illusion of mountain ranges rising above them, creating massive shadows in the sunset. The sky is a remarkable mix of oranges, reds, yellows, the far east tinted with darker shades of blue and purple as it grows darker. He’s seen views like this in Italy and France, but never before in his own country. Growing up in the city never afforded him this kind of beauty.

When he gets back to his time, he swears he’s going to take Michelle driving down the roads that he’s on now. She needs to see this. 

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Harley asks when they slow. “Nothing like the North Carolina mountains.”

“You’ve clearly never seen the French coast in June,” Peter teases. “But this? This is a close second.”

Harley chuckles, low in his chest, and Peter allows himself the moment of peace it brings. 

They continue on their way for another five minutes. Harley leads them up a ridge, where Peter sees a little cliff covered in Lily of the Valley. Peter’s always thought the stalks were gorgeous, even though they’re a danger. The moment the thought crosses his mind, he worries he knows the answer. 

_ “We all told him not to go hunting up at the Devil’s Lair. He knew better, but he chased that damned buck the whole way. He was there for but a minute, but he came back down with a stick of wood garlic in his mouth and that buck on his shoulder.” _

“Harley,” Peter asks. “That flower, there—is that wood garlic?”

“Yes,” Harley says. “It’s a test of manly grit if you can manage to eat a stalk of it. The taste is so foul, it can impress anyone.”

“And Ben, he ate some?”

“It’s tradition for the boys and men who dare to come here,” Harley explains.

_ How would Lily of the Valley end up in North Carolina? It’s not native, and it didn’t often travel unless… _

“Is this place cursed because it used to be a place of worship?”

Harley turns to give Peter a suspicious look. “How did you know that?”

“I know a lot about plants, darling,” Peter mumbles. “And those flowers are not from here. They’re also incredibly poisonous when consumed. If Ben ate that days ago, his time on death’s door makes sense. I need to get back to my cottage and then to him as fast as possible. Will you assist me?”

Harley doesn’t speak. Instead, he turns his horse and they take off towards the plantation. 

**)-(**

By the time Peter is getting dressed for a large dinner party, word has spread of what Peter’s done.

“Did you really banish the minister?” Diedre giggles, buttoning his outer coat. 

“No,” Peter says. At Drake’s disappointed look, he grins. “It was Aunt May.”

“May?” Drake gapes. “May did that?”

“Said that it was her house and she could make the decision on who treated her husband.” Peter feels overwhelming fondness for the woman as he recalls the incident. “Sent the minister right on out and let me get to work.”

“And Ben? He’ll be alright?”

“Yes,” Peter assures them both. “With rest, he will be just fine. And Aunt May is watching over him, so he could not be in better care.”

“Aunt May?” Diedre steps back to admire her handiwork. “Did she decide you were family?”

Peter tries not to be sad about planning to leave her behind. “She did indeed.”

A knock comes at the door, and Peter turns to see Harley standing in the entrance. “Mr. Parker. I came to see if you might let me escort you to dinner.”

_ I shouldn’t _ , Peter thinks painfully.  _ But I am alone. Can I not indulge? _

“I would be honored,” he answers, internally stamping down on his guilt. Harley looks painfully handsome in a red coat over his dark pants and vest. The color of the fabric compliments the rosiness of his cheeks, likely earned from his time in the sun, and his hair is recently cleaned. He goes against the styles of the time by letting his short hair curl naturally, a particular strand falling just at his cheek. Peter, to his own horror, finds himself mesmerized by those little things--rosy cheeks, golden curls, unfairly bright blue eyes...

In the dining room, Peter is distracted once again by Pepper, who points out that she’s saved a spot for him. "You intrigue me, Mr. Parker."

"How so?" he asks, watching as she surveys the room. "Do you think me a spy, as your husband does?"

"I have not yet decided," she says bluntly. "But I do admit that I'm curious about your studies. Is medicine in Jamaica different from North Carolina?" 

“Things can be less clinical,” he says. “And while there is often a mysticism to teachings on the islands, there are also born and raised doctors who lean more to science. It’s truly about preference.”

“And your preference?”

“A mix of both,” Peter admits. “I recognize advancements can be made and believe we should be searching for ways to do just that: advance. However, I also think that the earth offers us solutions if we only take the time to know where to look.”

“That is practical and admirable,” Pepper tells him with a soft smile. “I’ll have to keep Morgan away from you, or she’ll come back wanting to be a doctor instead of a lady.”

“Could she not be both?”

Pepper’s smile widens. “Well said, Mr. Parker.”

When the dinner is over and Harley leads Peter to the drawing room, they take seats together in the rows of chairs set up before the fireplace. The woman standing before the fire waits patiently for her audience to quiet and for the piano to strike up. The language she then sings in is one Peter doesn’t know, and he looks to Harley questioningly. His friend smiles. 

“Ahh, my grandfather taught me Gaelic when I was young,” Harley says quietly. “It was important that we learn the language of the people who brought us here, he said.”

“Tony and Ross’ father?’ Peter questions. 

“No, my grandfather on my father’s side. Tony and Ross were my mother’s brothers. Their family hails from Italy.”

“And you are a delightful European mixture.”

“I believe so,” Harley chuckles. “Would you like to know what she says?”

“I think I would.”

Harley nods. “She’s speaking of a mystical place of standing rocks. There are...many across the world. Her lover is a man who claims to have traveled through time and space, to have come from a far different land. After they fell in love, she begged him to stay, and he begged her to come with him.”

Peter’s mouth goes dry as he listens. 

Standing rocks. Time and space. 

“Her duty to her family required her to stay,” Harley continues. “But she watched him go, heartbroken and knowing that perhaps one day, he could return. Through the standing rocks, her love disappeared.”

“He returned to his own time?” Peter whispers. He’s almost frightened his reaction will give him away. “And these...stones, have you heard of them?”

“Craigh Na Dun,” Harley affirms. “Legends speak of the standing rocks only a few privileged can travel through. Something always pulls you to the other side—be it destiny or true love. You belong where the rocks take you.”

“But according to legend, you can return?” Peter asks. 

Harley nods. “You can travel back, if fate wills it.”

Peter feels faint. The rocks can take him back. He could go home. 

He knows now that he  _ must _ find a way to leave, simply because he  _ can. _


	4. merry of soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh the self indulgence

“You’re planning on leaving.”

Peter nearly spills ink everywhere. He turns to see Betty entering his workspace, stripping from her outer cloak. She begins to settle in like she always does, washing her hands at Peter’s sanitization station (something everybody raises their eyebrows at) and delivering her own herbs. Peter watches how comfortable she is and feels his heart break just a little. 

He thinks he’s going to miss her most of all. 

“How did you know?” he asks softly. 

“No denial? Asking me how I know?”

“Why should I bother?” Peter leans into his table and tries to bury his sadness. “You seem to understand me and to know all the secrets of the universe. I’m simply curious as to how you realized this secret.”

“Well, your desire to leave is not exactly a secret,” Betty reminds him. She reaches for the flint to light a small fire. “But the past few days have been different. You’re quieter, more withdrawn. The friendliness of your actions has shifted to distance.”

He sighs. “Are you going to tell anyone?”

“Of course not,” Betty scoffs. “You’re here against your will. You deserve to be where you belong.”

“And where do I belong, pray tell?”

“Where you choose.”

Peter contemplates this. “You know, every moment since I’ve come across Beck in Wilmington, my choice was taken from me. I was attacked, then taken away because my location was suspicious. I am kept here against my will for the same reason. I’m away from my family, I’ve—lost my wife, I have no rights. I didn’t choose any of this. I didn’t want it. Some people would believe where I am now is fate, but it’s...I don’t know what it is. It isn’t fate. It’s not that it’s been horribly miserable on the plantation, but...it isn’t what I  _ want _ .”

“You’re right,” Betty says softly. She leaves her cauldron to place a hand on his arm. “What  _ do _ you want, Peter?”

Briefly, blue eyes and blonde curls flash through his mind and a surge of heat coils in his chest. But then guilt replaces it, the image of Michelle standing looking at a vase appearing behind his eyelids. 

_ “Growing up, I didn’t really stay in one place long enough to have a vase,” Michelle answers. “And I’m looking at this one, wondering why that is. I never really tried to make anywhere a home.” _

“Home,” he confesses. “An herb garden on a rooftop in a busy city. Lavender coming through the window in the kitchen. Value beyond my services as a doctor. Love. No escorts.”

“Freedom,” Betty adds. She looks like she understands. “The ability to breathe without anyone having something to say about it.”

Peter huffs. “Yes, exactly. You sound as if you know what I’m talking about.”

“My family was not…” Betty clears her throat. “They were not supportive of who I am and what I wanted from life. I am too outspoken, too wild, too confused. It wasn’t until I met Ned and he wanted to take me away from them that I learned what it meant to feel free and comfortable in my own skin, or my own home.”

“May I ask what you mean by confused?”

“Yes. I…” a laugh. “Peter, for only the second time in my life, I believe I’m nervous.”

“What was the first?”

“When I told Ned the very same thing I want to tell you.”

“Which is?” Peter covers the hand she’s got on his arm with his own. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

She nods. “I just find myself not wanting you to think less of me. Homosexuality is no longer illegal, but my...well, who I am is not often accepted. It’s still a notion many look down on.”

Peter thinks of Michelle, confessing her truth to him in a classroom in their teens. He thinks of the time and money they invested in her surgeries, all the doctors and visits necessary for her to feel comfortable in her own skin. Even two hundred years into the future, people are still often unaccepting of those who are born into the wrong body. 

“You can tell me anything, Betty,” he repeats carefully. “But I understand the nerves. And you don’t need to feel any obligation.”

She smiles and tilts her head. “I don’t feel...I am not a girl.”

Peter nods. “How would you like to be addressed?”

“Betty, still. Elizabeth is my name, and I am fine with that. However, I am not a lady, nor am I a man.”

“Understood,” Peter says. “Let me know if anything changes and any behavior needs to be changed again.”

Eyes sparkling with tears, they smile, and Peter dreads he’s going to leave them.

**)-(**

This week is Lord Ross’ birthday, but its clear that the celebration is going to be more than that. 

“The party tonight is more than what it seems,” May tells Peter as she waltzes in with an armful of clothes. “Everyone being here is going to ‘make a toast’ to Lord Ross.”

“Why did you say it that way?” Peter frowns. The coat for tonight is purple, with brass buttons. It’s much nicer than anything he’s worn so far and its clear this is a special occasion.

“Because of the current political climate,” Ben answers. He’s been coming around more often since Peter saved his life, and Peter finds that he enjoys the man’s company. “The men present tonight are all patriots. This celebration is more of a securing of who is loyal to Ross, and to the cause. There will be a heavy weight to these words. Tony should be leading the toasts, so when he picks up his glass, that’s when you’ll want to be on the lookout.”

“Will I be expected to swear loyalty?” 

“No,” May assures him. “You’re not here of your own will, so any proclamation of faith would be seen as a trick and disregarded. It is only expected of the men fighting for him.”

“So I will be raising a glass to Ross,” Ben grunts. “Even though we’d all rather raise it to Tony.”

“But Tony isn’t the leader of the estate,” May reminds her husband. “And its why its so important that he leads the toasts. Ross seems to think Tony is going to sweep control out from under him.”

“People only listen to Ross because Tony does,” Peter questions, though he phrases it more like a statement. When May and Ben nod, he sighs. “I’ve seen it. Steve, Bucky, Nat, all of them...it’s always about Tony, never about Ross.”

“It’s because Tony’s the one who actually gives a damn about any of us,” Ben huffs. “Ross doesn’t care about anyone but himself.”

“Yet he lets us live on his land, so I will make him whatever food he wants and you will care for his cattle.”

Peter watches the exchange in amusement. It makes him wish he hasn’t been making plans to leave. He thinks about the bag of food in his workshop, the lint and the extra change of clothes—all so that he can sneak out of the party, get on the horse Harley’s been letting him take care of, and go off on a path he’s almost sure he can get away from. He has plans, he knows he can leave, and yet—

Yet Harley makes him feel safe and Betty understands him and Ned is becoming a friend and May loves him and Ben wants to teach him. 

“Peter?” Ben asks carefully. “Are you alright, son?”

Peter swallows. “Yes sir. Just thinking about the day when I can choose whether or not to go to parties.”

Hopefully, that day is tomorrow.

“Soon, I think,” Ben assures him. “Tony is pressing Ross to allow you more freedom from what I hear.”

“Tony?”

“They like you.”

“But Tony doesn’t spend any time with me.”

“Steve, Bucky, Sam, Nat, they all have.”

“Oh,” Peter says. “I suppose that is true.”

Guilt washes over him again, and he tamps it down.  _ I don’t belong here. 1945 is my home. Do not get attached.  _

“We’ll leave you to dress,” May says affectionately. As she passes, she presses her hand to Peter’s cheek. Peter catches it and decides to squeeze her hand in his own. “Are you alright, honey?”

“Just thankful, to you both,” he says sincerely. “Your kindness means so much.”

“Of course, Pete.” Ben claps his shoulder. “You try to have a nice time tonight, yes?”

“Yes sir.”

“Alright then.”

Peter grits his teeth and ignores the sting of tears. 

_ Don’t get attached.  _

**)-(**

Peter’s plan is simple. 

After the toasts to Ross, Peter mills around the ballroom. He was hoping to say goodbye to Harley, but the other man is nowhere to be seen, and Peter chalks it up to how there are a lot of officials. He remembers Nat's words about who can be trusted with their secret, and he has to give it to Ross–if there’s anything you can credit him, it’s that he cares for Harley's safety nearly as much as Tony. Harley isn't present for his own protection.

So Peter trusts that their earlier lunch in the stables will serve as a goodbye, and opens his flask to pretend to take a swig. 

“Alright, doc,” Sam drawls, appearing around a corner. “What do you have there?”

“My own moonshine,” Peter answers. “It was a gift from Betty, and no, I will not share.”

“Ahh, come on,” Bucky throws an arm around Peter’s shoulders. “We haven’t spent enough time together for you to share with us?”

“You are forced to spend time with me.”

“Maybe so, but it doesn’t mean we can’t be friends!” Sam pushes. He holds out a hand, and Peter pretends to huff and hand it over. Flicking open the top, he coughs at the smell. “You’re made of stronger stuff than I thought, Doc.”

“Are you not?” Peter teases. “I’m doubtful you could hold your own against even Buck.”

“Why do you hurt me?” Sam pouts, even as Bucky laughs and grips Peter’s shoulders. “You know, a whole flask from Mrs. Leeds stash says that I can survive longer than you can.”

“I want in,” Bucky shrugs. “I’ll drink you under the table, Wilson.”

“You got yourself a wager, Barnes. Doc?”

“Why not?” Peter laughs, knowing the moonshine is laced with a potent drug to put them to sleep. “Let the games begin.”

Pretending to drink is easier said than done. He knows that Natasha and Clint are not coming to the party tonight, so he only needs to worry about Steve and Tony--after Sam and Bucky are properly drunk, of course. It’s an amusing sight, seeing them argue over women and talk up their own sexual prowess. As the night goes on, they begin to use each other for support, their gazes towards each other becoming more heated. Soon after that, they stop bringing up women entirely, standing close and boasting of their talents in the bedroom. 

Slinking away, Peter hopes something good might come out of this night. 

As he pretends to drunkenly stumble off, Peter scans the room for the other pair who normally watch him, only to realize he hasn’t seen them since the dancing started. He vaguely recalls seeing Tony whisper into Steve’s ear before they walked out half an hour ago, but can’t be sure. 

Regardless, all of his usual guards are occupied. 

He slips from the ballroom. It’s easy from there to slide out to his workshop. He makes quick work of slipping through the door. Right as he’s grabbed his bag of supplies and is leaving, he hears a noise from around the building. He needs to pass that area to get to the stables, and if someone is there, he’s going to be seen. 

Tip-toeing around the corner, he chances a glance and his heart nearly stops at what he sees. 

Steve has Tony pressed into the side of the building. They’re still mostly clothed, and the little amount of moonlight means that Peter is saved from seeing anything else. It’s unmistakable, however, from Steve’s chest settled to Tony’s back, and Tony’s forehead leaning against the wall of Peter’s workshop, that Steve is rocking into his lover at a slow and steady pace. Peter feels horrified to be intruding on something that looks incredibly intimate and sounds even more romantic than he might have thought.

Feeling guilt, and yet still using this to his advantage, he heads for the stables. 

Of course, that couldn’t be the end of his surprises for the night. 

He gets to the entrance of the stable and his feet collide with an unseen mass. 

“Jesus Christ!” he exclaims, falling to his face in the dirt and his bag tumbling everywhere. 

“No sweetheart,” a familiar tone huffs, the mass taking form. “Just me.”

“Harley,” Peter breathes. “What are you doing out here?”

“Hiding from the party,” Harley grunts. “May I ask why you…”

Harley takes in the bag, where two apples have fallen out and the hem of a shirt. Peter swallows thickly, unsure of how the man is going to react. 

“I just want my freedom, Harley,” he pleads. “Please let me go. At least wait to tell anyone.”

Harley looks pained for him. “Sweetheart, the woods are packed with Ross’s scouts. You’d make it maybe another hundred yards before you were caught.”

“I-” Peter chokes on a sound of frustration. “I’ve been paying attention to patrols and events and—”

“This is a birthday party for a lord,” Harley says sharply. “One where there’s a large congregation of patriot men, whether or not they publicly declare it. There’s a danger to it, and Ross has men stationed all throughout the surrounding forest and land. Of all the nights to escape, this is your worst. You won’t make it, and then you’ll actually be locked away because my uncle will think it's suspicious. Tony and I won't be able to save you.”

Peter closes his eyes and digs the heels of his hand in. “You can’t be serious.”

“I'm afraid I am.”

“If I try anyways?”

“You _ will _ fail.”

He needs a moment to compose himself. He’s been planning to escape for weeks, has had this bit worked out for four days, and the possibility of escaping and getting back to Michelle is just gone. He can’t stay here any longer. The longer he stays, the harder it will be to leave, and he has to leave. 

He fights the tears, even as Harley’s arms come to wrap themselves around Peter. The embrace is comforting, even as frustrated as Peter is. Harley smells like earth and clean fabric, something that Peter can lean into and focus on to keep from screaming or sobbing (whichever instinct came first). He wants to do both, but instead just lets his hands drop to hug Harley’s torso. 

Extend this moment??

“You’ll get your freedom, love,” Harley whispers. “It’s just...it’s not tonight.”

Peter doesn’t respond. 

“Let’s go back to the castle,” Harley says softly. He breaks the embrace, simply placing one hand at his lower back. Peter silently complies, feeling too put out to do anything about the apples on the ground. He shoulders his bag and together, they walk back towards the house, sounds of the party floating towards them. 

"Did you not attend because of the officials here?” Peter asks, wishing his voice didn’t sound so thick. “Nat mentioned this might be something you needed to avoid.”

“Tony insisted, and Ross agreed,” Harley says. “Not all patriots are patriots for the love of their country. They would turn me into the redcoats for a pretty penny if in the right mind.”

“So you’ll need to—”

“Mr. Keener!” a voice bellows from the kitchen doors. There are a few men Peter recognizes from the dinner, leering at Harley. “We heard rumors of your time here, but thought you’d moved on. Surely a man wouldn’t miss the celebration of his uncle.”

“Mr. Keener was unwell,” Peter cuts in, ashamed that Harley’s protection is compromised because of him. “I went to check on him and deemed him well enough to join the others.”

“Ahh, well now he must join us!” the man laughs. “Come on, child, let us finish toasts to our fearless leader and your beloved uncle.”

Harley’s fingers dig into Peter’s waist in a reassuring squeeze, before his arm drops and he follows them inside. 

_ I’ve compromised his safety and ruined my own night.  _

Peter begins to wish he had actually drunk the moonshine. 

**)-(**

The next day, Peter wakes early. He's required to go on a hunt, another part of the celebration, and they're leaving before sunrise. He misses being able to sleep in, but his body is accustomed to odd hours. Between hospital shifts and actively participating in a war, his body does what it needs to.

He doesn't have to like it. 

Lazily dressing, he thanks Diedre for giving him the appropriate clothes (nothing much different than a sporting coat that allows more movement and a shirt of lesser quality) and munches on one of the apples they've started keeping in his room. He's just finishing up, lacing his boots, when Harley knocks and enters. 

"If you're ready," Harley offers. "I thought I'd stick close to you."

Peter raises an eyebrow. "You mean make sure I don't escape?"

"Haven't the slightest clue what you mean," Harley winks. Peter chuckles and shoulders his bag, following Harley from the guest rooms and down towards the kitchen. They both kiss May on their way out of the back door. She tells them to be safe, slides an extra sugared bun into their hands, and sends them on their way. 

Peter relishes in the ease of his interactions with Harley. The other man does more than make him feel safe—he's comfortable. Their conversations flow casually, and Peter doesn't mind the casual touching. There's an arm around his shoulder, a hand at his back, knuckles brushing across his, and a number of other interactions that normally make Peter politely request distance. With Harley, however, there's no problem with it. There's a familiarity, like their friendship is something that belongs.

Peter smiles as Harley helps him onto his own horse. "I'm able to do that myself, you know." 

"That's not nearly as fun," Harley says. His hands are still at Peter's hips. It makes Peter's stomach roll, but in a pleasant way, and he can't stop himself from coloring. He avoids eye contact with a little laugh and Harley's hands—large hands, calloused and a little scarred—slide away. 

_ Get it together, Parker. _

He's failing miserably. 

Tony leads the hunt, which is quiet as they move through the barely-lit forest. Harley tells him they're searching for boar. It's part of the reason that Peter's presence is necessary. The beasts are supposedly quite nasty, and don't go down easy. Lady Pepper refuses to let them take the dogs when there are boars involved because she's lost two of her prized pups to them. So now it's simply the men and their weapons. Even the horses are few, for too many would make noise they want to avoid. 

"Spread out," Tony calls, somehow keeping his voice quiet and even. "And call for help. Don't be arrogant, understood?"

The men nod. Harley instructs him to stay local to the clearing the others seperated from, so that he’s the most accessible. They don’t talk much, just dismount and await anything to happen. Peter knows that a successful hunt would mean that nobody is hurt, so he doesn’t wish for activity, but...he has no book or task to occupy his mind. Thus, he turns to Harley. 

“You are bored,” the other man teases. When Peter moves to protest, Harley continues.. “No, I know the type. You have nothing to occupy your thoughts.”

Peter feels terribly _ seen _ .

“Tell me what is on your mind, then,” Harley chuckles. “I will do my best to offer scintillating conversation.”

Harley is lounging against a tree trunk, a smug smile on his face, and Peter can’t stop the that laugh the whole thing startles out of him. It’s not as if this particular situation is funny, or that Harley’s said something terribly witty. It’s simply nice to feel teased and relaxed and understood. He's powerless to resist the pull of comfort. 

“If you must know, I was curious as to your presence with me,” Peter says. “I would have thought Sam or Nat would be watching me now.”

“I volunteered,” Harley admits. He avoids eye contact with Peter. “The options of needlessly hunting or spending time with you didn’t bear much thought. I asked to be your escort for this portion of the day.”

Peter ignores the flutter in his stomach. “You don’t like to hunt?”

“Not particularly. I’m good at it, because Tony trained me to be so. But it is not something I'm fond of. Killing for food or survival is understandable, but we are not in need of meat right now, or skins, or anything of the sort. It seems unnecessary to me to hunt for sport.”

“I understand that,” Peter tells him. “I spend quite a lot of time caring for life, that the thought of taking it without need is...as you said, unnecessary.”

“I’m glad you understand. Many look down on me for it. As you know, I’m not quite ‘man enough’ because of my, um, leanings. So others expect me to make up for it in other ways.”

Peter feels his face twist in annoyance. “You have no need to prove yourself to anyone, regardless of your ‘leanings.’ It’s absurd.”

“Be that as it may,” Harley sighs. “It’s something I’ve always tried to do.”

“Well you’ve succeeded,” Peter says before he can think to hold his tongue. “You are...very manly.”

The corner of Harley’s mouth tips up in amusement. “Is that so, Mr. Parker?”

Peter wants to die of embarrassment, but any response he might have been able to fabricate is cut off by a whistle. Harley pales and rises to his feet in a single, fluid motion. He offers his hand to Peter. “Come, you’re needed.”

Peter follows Harley through the trees, stumbling over the roots and grasses of the forest floor. He can hear somebody sobbing, a familiar sound of a man struggling to breathe through pain. He picks up his pace when they get close enough to hear Tony say, “It’s alright, Tommy, it’s alright, Petey’s coming.”

In a small clearing, Tony cradles a man about his age. His friends are around him, all red eyed and fearful. Peter kneels next to the man, eyeing the cut laceration on his thigh. It’s deep, and it’s cut an artery that Peter has no hope of clamping. He looks to Tony, the question clear in the other man’s eyes. 

Peter shakes his head. Tony dips his face as his shoulders shudder. 

“Thomas,” Peter says softly, reaching for the man’s hand. “Do you mind if I give you something for the pain, just while I work?”

Thomas nods quickly, his grip on Tony and Peter tightening at the same time. Tony whispers a reassurance as Peter digs in his bag for the vial of what he needs. He makes quick work of emptying it into Thomas’ mouth. The man coughs, but takes it. It’s going to be a minute before it takes effect and lets him drift off so that when he passes, there is no pain or confusion. Peter needs to pass the time. 

“Tell me,” Peter says, pretending to be working on his leg. He presses a cloth into the wound to at least slow the bleeding. “Tell me about your home, your lover, anything to distract.”

“Emmaline,” Thomas whispers. “God, what a woman.”

“You love her?”

“I do,” Thomas says. His eyes unfocus a little. “Have you ever seen someone that looks like the sun, Pete? That’s my Emmaline. She walks into the room and its like everything centers around her. Golden hair, blue eyes, the whole dream. And witty, too—” he gasps a little bit, and Peter sees the hand on Tony’s arm slacken. “Oh, nobody can think as quickly as she speaks. Little spitfire, I used to say.”

“She sounds like a remarkable woman,” Peter manages to say. “Can you close your eyes for me, Thomas? Close your eyes and picture her?”

Thomas does that, mouth tipping up.

He dies with a smile on his face. 

**)-(**

“Are you well?”

Peter lets Betty rub their hand on his back. He’s sitting in his workshop, wiping away tears. “Yes. It’s just...it’s my first death in almost a year.”

Since the war, he thinks miserably. Since his brothers-in-arms died while in the trenches, since he watched body parts fly through the air and people scream and cry for their mothers--

“Oh, Peter,” Betty whispers. Their arms wrap around his shoulders and he cries into their stomach, shoulders wracking. “I am sorry that there was nothing for you to do. But that has to be your comfort. Accepting that some things are beyond your control. What was under control, you executed perfectly.”

He holds more tightly to his friend. 

When Thomas had fallen asleep, Tony had sobbed. Peter, being the closest person, had been the one to offer a kind embrace and comfort him through that, sitting in the forest. It was surreal, the sun barely over the horizon and Tony cradling his dead friend, Peter offering support as he grieved. Men had stood around them, some crying, some stony faced, some unable to look at their friend. 

“Hunting boar,” Peter scoffs through his tears. “This man died from hunting a boar.”

“And you gave him peace.”

Peter looks up, finding Tony in the space. The other man’s eyes are red, and he looks just on the recovered side of grief. As if his evening has been spent much like Peter’s. “It’s my job.”

“No,” Tony disagrees. “Your job was to heal him if you could, and tell us if you couldn’t. At most, it was to give him that potion you did that eased his pain. What you did for my friend, speaking of his wife and making that passing easier—” his words cut off, and he closes his eyes for a moment. Once gathered, he looks back up at Peter. There’s a softness he hasn’t seen before. “You went above and beyond what was required of you. You gave him peace. That’s all any of us can ever ask for. I do not look at that lightly.”

Peter nods. “Yes, sir.”

Tony steps further into the room. “I would like to propose something to you.”

“And that is?”

“A chance at some freedom from this place,” he says. “We’re taking a tour around North Carolina. There’s going to be visits with other gentlemen and a...search to understand certain sympathies. We might need a healer, as we’ll be traveling often and, in some places, making camp because we’ll be unwelcome. Better to be safe than sorry.”

Peter recognizes this as an extension of faith, a kindness Tony is giving him. He'll still be "under their protection" but without Ross watching him like a hawk or someone monitoring his every move. He's going to be able to move around more freely. 

He needs to take this opportunity. 

Tony holds out his hand. “What do you say, Pete?” 

Peter accepts the hand, grasping it firmly. 

“When do we leave?”


	5. she sailed on a day

May fusses, Betty pouts, Ben tries to get them to both calm down, and Ned watches on in amusement.

Peter is getting yet another check from May (“I have everything, I swear.”) and a hug from Betty (“Now what am I supposed to do while Ned works? I’ll be so bored.”) when Harley walks up to them. May and Betty turn their attentions on him, which allows Peter to step back. Ned comes next to him, crossing his arms. 

“It’s going to feel odd, not having you around,” Ned comments. “If I don’t see you at least once a day, I question if time has even passed.”

Peter laughs. “You know I’ll miss you both very much.”

“You’ve been good for Betty. They feel comfortable around you, comfortable enough to tell you who they really are. That hasn’t happened with anyone except Harley. I think not having you around for a bit might throw them off kilter.”

Peter tamps down the familiar guilt. He’s long past no attachments, and is now learning how to not make his feelings so apparent. “I don’t think they know what they’ve done for me, either. I’ll miss them every day I’m gone.”

“Thank you, Peter,” Ned says softly. “For being part of our family, so easily and devotedly. I wish I could tell you what it meant.”

“I think I understand,” Peter replies. “Because I’d like to thank you for _ letting _ me into your family.”

Ned gives hima hug. It’s followed by one last kiss from Betty, May grabbing him and Harley and demanding they be safe, and Ben waving them both off. 

Harley looks slightly dazed. “We aren’t off to battle yet. I don’t know why they act like they’ll never see us again.”

“This world is unpredictable,” Peter reminds him. “Who knows what’s going to happen tomorrow? They just want to feel like they’re parting on good terms, I think.”

“I can respect that,” Harley chuckles. He settles his hand in the crook of Peter’s arm and the two walk towards the horses. It’s a routine departure as Harley helps Peter on to the horse, gets on his own, and the two fall into place near Tony’s side. It feels oddly comfortable, and part of Peter wishes it didn’t. But he brushes that off with the thought that he might be going home soon. Traveling North Carolina means possibly going back to Wilmington, which means access to Craigh Nah Dun. That means traveling back home and finding Michelle and getting stability back in his life. 

_ I have someone waiting for me _ , he thinks, less vehemently that he did a month ago.  _ I cannot lose sight of my goal.  _

**)-(**

Traveling with Tony and his men is...interesting. 

They make their first stop in Fayetteville, at a gentleman’s land named Mr. Banner. He greets Tony as if they’ve known each other for ages, and directs some of his men to gathering the horses. Servants come to take bags, and Peter is pleasantly surprised to see no slaves. There are people of color, of course, but there is no hint that this is a plantation. 

“Old family money, much like Tony and Ross,” Harley murmurs as Peter takes in the sights. “Except Bruce doesn’t farm. His current income is his knowledge. We’re here to see if Tony can persuade Bruce to accompany us in war when the time comes.”

“You made a remark about that earlier,” Peter replies. He’s slightly distracted by the proximity of his friend, but swallows. “We are in war with the motherland. There have been battles, have there not?”

“But we are not expected to fight quite yet,” Harley explains. “North Carolina is largely loyalist. We need to change that to rally troops and ensure victory.”

“And what can Bruce do?”

“The people here look up to him. He is a doctor, a scholar, and known for his kindness. He is, however, a fearsome soldier. Many would follow him into war.”

“If he’s on board, so are his men.”

“Indeed.”

Harley and Peter follow the others towards the house. There’s a gathering around Tony and another man. He looks to be about the same age, with curly black hair, glasses sitting on his nose, and a book tucked under his arm. He’s smiling fondly at Tony, even though there’s a hint of exasperation. Peter wonders at seeing a side to Tony that is anything but distant, and wonders if he’ll experience that before he leaves. 

It seems that he dwelled on that too soon, as Tony’s face brightens with a grin at the sight of a man walking towards him. Harley looks pleased as well, though he stays back while Tony embraces the man.    


“Rhodey!” he bellows gleefully. “I didn’t expect to see you here, I thought you were up in Philadelphia.”

“I brought you some information that I will share with you later.”

“You’re a minx, teasing me this way.”

“You know I have to do my best to keep you interested.”

“Hush darling, you’ll make Steven jealous.”

“Tony, we both know that if I was attracted to men, he’s the one I would be chasing.”

“You wouldn’t stand a chance against me.”

“Are we lying to each other now? That’s something we’re doing?”

Tony throws his head back to bellow out a laugh and hugs the man again. “I missed you, Rhodes.”

“Missed you too, Tones. Now—wait,  _ Harley? _ Come, let me look at you, boy!”

Harley strides over, Peter watching the entire exchange with heavy bemusement. The young man has his hair ruffled, but only ducks his face in a smile and inquires after “Mr. Rhodes’s” health. Peter has never seen such familiarity expressed towards Tony and Harley. The others clearly love them, but there’s always a respect that prevents them from crossing any lines. Even Steve doesn’t touch Tony or address him the way a lover would in public.. 

“Rhodey is Tony’s oldest friend,” Nat says from beside him. Her eyes are fond as she watches Harley interact. “He was also the slave who personally found Harley in the wreckage of the hurricane all those years ago. Dug him out from piles of debris and carried him to the healer’s tent so he could be treated. His freedom was granted, and he went North to learn. Aside from Steve, there is nobody Tony loves more in the world than Rhodey.”

Peter is surprised. “I didn’t know that Harley was at the plantation when the hurricane struck.”

“He was young,” Nat sighs. “He and his sister were visiting, and Harley wanted to help with rounding up the horses, despite being instructed not to. We lost sight of him, and the wind came...suddenly, fiercely. Couldn’t see anything in front of you through the rain, and it was too dangerous to go out into the storm. As soon as it was manageable, though, Rhodey went back to get him. After that…”

“He and Harley are close as well.”

“And this,” Harley calls, motioning to Peter and disrupting the conversation. “Is Dr. Peter Parker.”

Peter is nudged forward by Nat, so he steps up to meet the two men. Their handshakes are firm, but both look on him kindly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”

“The pleasure is ours,” Bruce replies. “I’m Dr. Bruce Banner. You are a man of science as well?”

“I am,” Peter tells him. “I’ve been practicing medicine for six years.”

“Well while you’re staying here, you’ll have to look at my library,” Bruce offers. “It’s expansive.”

“It’s Bruce’s baby,” Tony teases. “He loves it more than life.”

“Books are treasures,” Peter agrees. “I look forward to visiting it.”

“Look forward to having you.” Bruce dips his head. “And this is James Rhodes. He’s our friend, a student of philosophy and law.”

“A prudent combination,” Peter chuckles. “I’ve heard much about you, Mr. Rhodes.”

“Whatever Tony said, I assure you he cannot be trusted,” Rhodes laughs. “But it’s nice to meet you as well, Mr. Parker. How did you come to join Tony’s band of miscreants?”

Tony rolls his eyes, but doesn’t appear truly annoyed. “Mr. Parker was found in Wilmington and has proven himself useful to the cause, and you know how my brother is.”

“Ahh.” Rhodes and Banner both look understanding. 

“Well, let’s hope you’ll feel more comfortable here,” Bruce chuckles. “Come on in, you must all be in need of rest.”

**)-(**

The evening passes as most of the evenings have since Peter traveled back in time, except dinner is a casual affair. Everyone changes for dinner, but only to get out of riding clothes. There are no coats worn, no kerchiefs, and no bother with formality. Peter sits between Harley and Steve, who openly leans into Tony’s side. The men are affectionate all evening, sharing brief touches and, once or twice, a kiss to the temple or hand. The tone in Bruce’s house is much different than the tone on Ross’s plantation. 

Peter feels a touch of gratitude to Tony for even bringing him along. It’s easier to laugh, to ask questions and to listen intently. He doesn’t feel as if he’s being pushed aside or judged; he’s just existing among these people. 

Afterwards, Peter is brought to the library. Bruce lets him wordlessly drift around the shelves for a long time, his fingers grazing the spines of the books. He’s held others like this before, but they were always old and he needed to hold them with reverence. Now, he’s catching glimpses of books he’s read, but they’re in pristine condition. 

“Magnificent, aren’t they?” Bruce asks, a small smile on his face. He’s looking at the shelves the way Michelle used to. 

And suddenly, Peter knows Bruce more than he thought he might. 

_ “Bruce Banner,” Michelle says breathlessly. “Was a revolutionary in his time.” _

_ “Obviously,” Peter laughs. “He was a patriot. Revolution was their primary goal.” _

_ “No, you buffoon,” Michelle rolls her eyes, but lowers herself into Peter’s lap. “Dr. Bruce Banner was dissecting bodies when he would have been slaughtered for it. People thought doing that was a heinous crime against God, despite the science of it.” _

_ “Then why wasn’t he murdered?” _

_ “His lab wasn’t discovered until after his death. His apprentices were imprisoned, though..it says here he had an unnamed associate that was mentioned in letters found in his home, only listed as ‘the young doctor.’” _

_ “How mysterious.” _

_ “Oh, yes, very.” _

Peter swallows, turning back to face the books. “They are beautiful, from the contents, to the covers.”

“Even the most garish of books are beautiful once you open the pages.”

“The smell of parchment.”

“The crack of a fresh book spine.”

“The sound the pages make.”

“So your scholarly habits move beyond medicine,” Bruce notes. “You share a love of literature?”

“I do,” Peter admits. “I don’t think there’s really any comfort like reading. The way you can fall into a story, or even a textbook, is remarkable. You can learn languages and sciences. You can travel the world. All in a book.”

“All in a book,” Bruce agrees. Peter turns to him just as he sees Harley coming into the room, and the older man clears his throat. “Well, Mr. Parker. I believe it’s time to turn in for myself. I suspect a long day tomorrow, and I wouldn’t want to infringe upon your world travels.”

As Bruce ducks out and Harley comes closer (the man seems to be everywhere, and Peter can’t find it within himself to complain), the blond looks amused. “World travels? Are we going somewhere?”

The implied ‘we’ makes his heart stutter. 

“Books,” Peter stammers. At Harley’s raised eyebrows, he forces a laugh out. “Bruce and I were discussing the feeling of world travel when reading.”

“Oh?” Harley beams. “Were you going to take a trip tonight?”

“I was considering it.”

“May I join you?”

Peter ignores the somersault of his stomach, focuses on Michelle’s memory, and nods. “Yes. I don’t see why not. Care to go to...Paris? To the bells of Notre Dame?”

“It would be my honor,  _ ma cherie _ .”

They settle into the chairs Bruce has in his library, and Peter begins to read.

**)-(**

The next morning, Peter believes he must be on some type of holiday. He wakes up late to breakfast outside his door, eats in the library while continuing _ The Hunchback of Notre Dame _ with Harley, and goes on a ride with Bucky and Natasha. Lunch is eaten in an observatory, where Bruce and Peter discuss the plants around them in depth. Peter offers up knowledge he has from the future in the guise of learning under doctors in New York. Bruce takes notes enthusiastically. 

It’s a wonderful time. 

Until the late afternoon (after Peter takes a lovely nap), when Tony comes to the library to draw Harley’s attention. Harley sighs but stands, looking displeased at having to do so. “It’s time?”

“If you’re still willing.” Tony says. “I won’t have you parading around anything you think is unnecessary.”

“I should do it,” Harley shakes his head. “It’s important. I can sacrifice a little bit of comfort for a larger cause.”

Peter is disturbed by the way they’re talking. 

Tony nods sharply. “Very well. They’re in Bruce’s office.”

Peter stands to follow, but Harley holds out a hand. 

“I think it’s best you stay here,” the blond says, resolute. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

“Harley—”

“Peter, this is not a thing to argue. Please?”

“Very well,” he relents, only because the other man is pleading. “I won’t accompany you.”

That doesn't mean, however, that he won't be  _ following _ them. 

Peter knows where Bruce’s office is. So he waits, standing in the library and nosy until it will be the death of him, wondering what’s so important that Harley—who has been nothing but open and honest with him—is wanting him to stay back. Peter tries not to smile when he realizes that, across time and space, some things really don’t change. 

He’ll be a nosy son of a bitch in any lifetime. 

Peter follows the path he remembers from earlier. The door is open, but Peter stays back. Everyone is facing away from him, eyes trained on the man at the front. Peter recognizes the mop of blonde curls and has to cover his mouth at the sight that greets him. 

Harley’s skin is a map of scars. The pink skin is raised in what hast to be hundreds of lashes. They aren’t old enough to have turned white, which must mean this is the work of Quentin Beck, of the flogging he received simply for protecting his sister. 

Tony says as much, pointing at Harley’s skin. There’s genuine anger, tears gathering in his eyes. “My nephew’s flesh was literally torn apart for something so simple as protecting his sister from rape. He was doing what any other man would have done. The redcoats wanted to take her for themselves because they felt entitled to her body. And what did Harley do? Protect her. And what did they do? Punish him. Strung him up and beat him until he couldn’t walk. And I stood there, watching.

“I raised Harley, cared for him as my own. Do you know what it’s like to see your children strung up like beasts, despite lack of crime? No. But I do. You feel every lash upon their skin as if you are the one under the pain, and yet you can do nothing to relieve them. We can speak about taxes and oppression and the king. But these things, this is what we seek to fight. The protection of my son and daughter...the protection of yours. Because the king may be the arrogant pig who looks down on us from afar, but the king’s men? Those are the ones who hurt us. Who hurt them.

“And that, my friends, is what we’re fighting for.”

Peter flees the scene before he’s discovered. 

**)-(**

Harley doesn’t come to dinner. When Peter goes to check on him, he finds Tony sitting at the boy’s bedside, watching over him as he sleeps. 

Feeling intrusive once more, Peter leaves them to themselves. 

**)-(**

They leave Dr. Banner’s house for Raleigh the next day, promising to stop by on their way back. Peter feels the loss of the easy companionship he was able to feel in the doctor’s home. Harley seems to understand, simply squeezing his shoulder and murmuring a, “It won’t always be like this for you, sweetheart.”

Peter brushes his fingers across the inside of Harley’s wrist as a thank you, and they saddle up. 

The ride is slightly rowdy. Peter stays to the back of the crowd, watching Tony and Rhodey laugh with Steve, while the others trail behind in their own conversations. Harley stays by his side, not engaging with them. He’s not usually so quiet. Peter is thinking of a way to help and break the conversation when Harley speaks first. 

“Tony says you saw our display,” the man says quietly, almost pained. “That you saw me and all my scars.”

Peter looks away in shame. “I hope you can forgive me for the intrusion. Though I do wonder—”

“You forget Peter, that Nat sees everything.”

“Right.” Peter guesses he should have known. “Well, I do apologize. I realize I should never have been so intrusive.”

“All is forgiven,” Harley says. He shifts, as if preparing to say something uncomfortable. “Peter, I do not like being paraded around as an example of loyalist terror. I ask that you acknowledge that. It brings me no joy. In fact, I’m quite ashamed of it, but I do it because I believe it must be done.”

“Tony’s speech made good points,” Peter agrees sullenly. “But how could he do that? I can tell he cares for you, he’s made it clear since the beginning. You obviously love him as a father. But what man could do that to his son?”

“It wasn’t Tony’s idea, love. I offered to do it. People can listen to words all they like, but seeing the evidence of something has a much different effect. They see my back and they see my pain, Tony’s pain, and they swear to the cause.  _ It’s a good cause _ . I simply did not want you there because...it’s a reminder of my weakness. I don’t much like the thought of you bearing witness to that.”

Peter doesn’t say anything for a long moment. He struggles with the image of Harley’s naked skin bared to strangers, his head ducked low and tears in Tony’s eyes. He knows what is to fight for his country. He remembers the pictures they were given, the films they saw of the concentration camps to inspire them. He remembers war and the realization that it was happening, so he might as well be doing for people he loved. 

_ “If I was in Germany, I would be killed,” Michelle whispers, wiping tears from her eyes as she looks out of their window. “It’s absurd. This-this perfect, pure race he’s trying to create. Imagine what this man would do with a black transgender woman. I would be in those camps, and its doubtful I would last very long.” _

_ “You aren’t in those camps, you’re here with me,” Peter says. He wraps his arms around his wife from behind. “But I know what’s coming next. You want to fight.” _

_ “I have to fight.” _

_ “Why?” _

_ “Because there are people like me, Peter, like us. And there are people who aren’t like us, but who are Jewish or have dark fucking hair or don’t agree with Hitler. Those people need help and I can’t sit at home while it happens.” _

_ Peter ducks his head into her neck and lets out a shaky breath. “Okay. We’ll go sign up tomorrow.” _

“I understand what you were doing,” Peter eventually says. “And I understand why you didn’t want me there. You are, however, wrong to think it's a sign of weakness.”

“Oh?”

“Your scars are a sign of your strength. Your ability to protect your sister through placing yourself in harm’s way, and your ability to remain strong and upright in the worst of times. Do not doubt that.”

Harley looks doubtful, but he smiles at Peter nonetheless.

Peter has to staunchly ignore the swoop through his stomach at that smile. 

**)-(**

“Oi!” Tony whistles, effectively silencing their party. “We’ll stop just ahead for a drink. There's a loyalist company around these parts, and they might be suspicious of us. Be aware.”

For all of Tony’s warnings, their company is still lighthearted. Peter kneels by a stream when they dismount. He shivers as soon as his fingers touch the water, but still takes pleasure in quenching his thirst. His chill does not matter much anyways, as Harley approaches him with the coat from his horse. Peter puts it on with a grateful smile and a brush of the hand. 

_ Control yourself, Parker.  _

Peter is about to verbally thank Harley when they hear a rumble of horse hooves coming their way. Peter lets out a small noise of confusion when Tony comes down from the road and motions to Harley. “It’s the governor’s men, boy. Take the others and go.”

“But they’ll be able to see some of the horses.” Harley frowns. “And then they’ll just come looking.”

“Some of us will stay behind to waste time, now  _ go _ ,” Tony snaps. “Rhodey?”

“Come on, Harls,” Rhodey says with a grimace. “You and me won’t be welcome, we need to go.”

Everyone scrambles to get their things together. When Peter moves to follow, Tony grabs his arm. “Unfortunately, Pete, you have to stay with me.”

“ _ Why _ ?”

“Your horse is the one by the road, and it’s got a medical bag,” Tony grimaces. “If they ransack your supplies, they’ll know we don’t have our doctor because none of us can pretend. That’ll look suspicious. If you go get your horse, or even your bag, they will see you and then want to know why you ran off. Either way, they go looking for more than just Steve and I because of you.”

Peter turns, to where Harley is being led deeper into trees by Rhodey and Nat. The rest of their group is following, save Steve and Tony, as the hooves grow louder.

“If they’re looking for the rest of our people, they’re _ looking for Harley, _ ” Tony hisses. “And you and I both know our boy won’t do well in a prison.”

Peter grits his teeth. “Right.”

“Come on,” Tony huffs. “Look happy.”

Peter rolls his eyes, earning a little chuckle from Steve. He goes about kneeling back back the stream to refill the water skins Tony throws at him and wait for the men to arrive. It’s not long, until the sound of hooves becomes completely clear, and then stops. 

“Is that...Lord Anthony?”

“Reginald,” Tony says dryly. “It’s been a long time.”

“Have you missed me, then?”

“Now, Reg, we’ve never lied to each other.”

Peter has to stifle a snort, and Steve shoots him a grin. “Reginald Hopkins is a former lover of Tony’s. He can normally sweet talk—”

“My, my, who is this?” Reginald says loudly, talking over Steve. “I don’t recognize this boy as one of your usual party. He’s almost as pleasant an addition as Mr. Rogers here.”

Steve slowly rises, motioning for Peter to do the same. When he rises and turns, Peter sees a man with dark hair and a British uniform leering at him. He’s handsome enough, but its uncomfortable for Peter. He’s accustomed to old men in uniform seeing smooth skin and thin hips and turning their gaze inappropriate. 

“This is Mr. Parker,” Tony says, tone even and careful. “He’s my brother’s recently acquired physician, traveling with my friends and I to ensure our general health.”

“A young physician, is he not?” Reginald frowns. “Where did you study?”

“With Bruce,” Tony interjects. “He’s a brilliant kid, so his apprenticeship was shorter than most.”

“Hmm,” Reginald dismounts his horse and stalks closer. “Why do you not speak for yourself, young man? Mr...Parker?”

Peter swallows. “We all know Lord Anthony’s quickness to speak. Why try to challenge it?”

Reginald chuckles as Tony looks affronted. 

“And where are you going?”

Peter looks to Tony, realizing he doesn’t actually know the answer. “Wherever my lord and his company wills.”

“Does Mr. Rogers know the location of your journey?” Reginald presses, not bothering to look away from Peter. 

Steve doesn’t answer, and Peter wonders if it’s because he too does not know, or because he doesn’t want Reginald to know. 

“So you have a pretty, reluctant-looking physician,” Reginald says slowly. “A man rumored to be your lover, and both unaware of their destination by your side. You must know it sounds odd, Anthony.”

Tony grits his teeth. 

“Tell me, Mr. Parker.” Reginald’s smile turns cold. “Are you, or are you not, accompanying Lord Anthony of your own will?”

Peter has a horrible, momentary flash of realization.

_ This could be an out. I could... _

_ I could have my freedom.  _


	6. over the sea, to skye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I can’t imagine what use a man with Stark's leanings could have with such a young man.”
> 
> Peter’s stomach hits the floor. He doesn’t have to turn around to know that voice, to feel hot breath on his neck and cool rock beneath his cheek. 
> 
> “Captain Beck,” the governor looks highly bothered at the intrusion. “That is an unkind insinuation.”
> 
> “I take no offense,” Tony sneers. “But you will apologize to my companion for saying such a thing.”
> 
> Beck walks around the table, turning to face Peter. When they lock eyes, the captain freezes. “I believe we are not acquainted, sir. I apologize for the assumption.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I continue to play with the rules of history because I feel like it! Thank you to those who read <3

Peter isn’t answering, 

“Tell me sir,” Reginald presses. “Are you here by your own choice?”

_ Be practical, Peter. Escaping with him won’t give you any freedom. And if you tell the truth, Tony will be punished. Does he deserve that? _

Peter hesitates.

“I appreciate your concern,” he says, making sure his tone is as gentle as can be. “But there is no cause for it. I’m a guest of Lord Ross Stark and his brother. I may not be very aware of where we’re going, but that’s no fault of Lord Anthony’s.”

“Hmm,” Reginald steps closer. He looks thoughtful, eyes raking over Peter again, before stepping back with a nod. “I think you’ll accompany us to my home. It’s been a long time since the governor’s spoken with a Stark, and its fortunate you are both visiting Raleigh at the same time. I’m sure you were headed there anyways, right?”

“You know us well, Reginald,” Tony says. “Lead the way.”

**)-(**

The governor is an older, stout man. He sits at his dining table when Peter and the others arrive, a napkin tucked into his collar and a feast spread before him. He’s got a militia of other men around him, and claps once, sharply, at the sight of the rest of his men. 

“Mr. Stark!” he adds jovially. “So good of you to stop at my humble home and grace us with your presence.”

“Anything for you, Your Excellence.” Tony grits out. He shakes the man’s hand. “We’ve been traveling to see friends and we thought we would stop and see to your health.”

_ “Tony hates the governor of North Carolina,” Harley tells them as they look up at the stars. “Says he turns his head at the most horrific things. He doesn’t rule, he doesn’t fight, he doesn’t much of anything at all.” _

_ “So he can’t ask the man for your pardon?” _

_ “Absolutely not. The governor wouldn’t care and wouldn’t do it.” _

_ “So Tony hates him.” _

_ “So Tony hates him.” _

“Hmmph,” the man grunts, but motions to the table. “Have a seat, bring your...guests along with you.”

“Josiah, you know Steven Rogers,” Tony says. Then, “My lover?”

Josiah swallows awkwardly, but nods. “Mr. Rogers.”

Steve dips his head in acknowledgement. 

“And this is a new doctor who trained with Bruce, but is joining mine and my brother’s company,” Tony says. “Please, Your Excellency, meet Mr. Parker. Mr. Parker, this is Governor Josiah Martin.”

“An honor,” Peter shakes the offered hand. “I hope you are well, Your Excellency.”

“I am,” the man grunts. “Will you all join us for lunch? We were just wondering who could offer the most entertaining story for our meal.”

Reginald laughs. “If I may request it, governor, I am most curious to hear Mr. Parker’s story. Should we be lucky enough to learn the mystery?”

“I love a good mystery,” Josiah nods. “Alright, Mr. Parker, have at it. See if you can entertain us with the story of…?”

“How he ended up in Mr. Starks’ company,” Reginald finishes.

Peter realizes what Reginald is doing. Tony told him at the creek that Peter studied under Bruce, and was suspicious. Now, he’s looking to test Peter, hear what he says and see if its believable. Now Peter is going to have to manipulate the story to fit Bruce in, or Reginald will question that. He also needs to tell some of the truth, however, in case anyone looks too far into it. 

What a mess. 

So Peter carefully crafts his tale. He tells those who listen that he lived with his wife’s family in Jamaica, and how he began to study there. After her passing, he was making his way to New York and ended up passing through Fayetteville where he met Bruce, who offered to teach him the study of medicine and all he knew. 

“I’m still learning, of course,” Peter says, glancing at Tony. “But the Starks are kind enough to have faith that I will continue to learn and they took me under their wing. I was on my way to the Stark plantation, in fact, when I was attacked.”

“Oh?” 

Peter goes into a version of events that make Tony not look like a villain. He doesn’t include any mention of their suspicions about the loyalists, the camp they came across or that they know anything of the battle. He instead regales them with stories of how the people he’s met and treated during his time at the Stark plantation. 

“And what’s led you to us?” Reginald prompts, leaning forward. “Surely Lord Ross wouldn’t have been so kind as to sacrifice his newly acquired physician?”

“I am in the company of his brother,” Peter says. “He was indeed kind enough to let me join the trip to see my mentor once more, as long as I assisted his brother with anything he was in need of.”

“I can’t imagine what use a man with Stark's leanings could have with such a young man.”

Peter’s stomach hits the floor. He doesn’t have to turn around to know that voice, to feel hot breath on his neck and cool rock beneath his cheek. 

“Captain Beck,” the governor looks highly bothered at the intrusion. “That is an unkind insinuation.”

“I take no offense,” Tony sneers. “But you will apologize to my companion for saying such a thing.”

Beck walks around the table, turning to face Peter. When they lock eyes, the captain freezes. “I believe we are not acquainted, sir. I apologize for the assumption.”

_ That’s how we’re going to play it? _ “I appreciate your apology, Captain.”

“What took you so long?” Reginald asked with a small pout. “You were supposed to be here hours ago.”

“I was cleaning up savagery,” Beck says. He strides to the table by the window and pours himself a glass of water. “It seems some patriots have strung my lieutenant to a tree.”

“A prank?” Josiah asks.

“Perhaps.” Beck turns black eyes on the governor. “Except that his severed head was cradled in his lap.”

Josiah looks like he’s going to throw up and Reginald bows his head. “A bitter shame. Why would - that is disgraceful.”

“And should not go unpunished.”

“No,” Josiah agrees. “It should not. We shall investigate the matter--”

“What investigation needs to be done?” Beck snaps. “The savagery of this congress knows no bounds, and the people who support it are no better. My soldier did not deserve his death.”

“Be that as it may,” Peter interjects. “Have your men never acted out of hate for something they disagree with? There could be more than meets the eye in this situation.”

“My men would never commit such a crime, we are soldiers of the  _ King _ .”

“So these men you claim have such honor under your command would not slaughter two lovers for daring to be together?”

“Absolutely not.”

_ Peter bites down the swell of bile, a single hand covering his mouth. Two women on a cross, a hateful slur carved crudely into their chests. Next to him, Harley shudders and reaches for his uncle. “Tony…” _

_ “Take them down,” Tony bites out harshly. His men spring into action. “And find me a shovel.” _

_ “A shovel?” Clint frowns.  _

_ “They deserve a proper burial.” _

Peter grips his silverware dangerously tight. “We came across two women this morning. They were beaten and bloodied and crucified. Judging by the slurs carved into their naked chests, it was easy to tell what they were murdered for. Loving each other. Is that justice, Governor?”

“That is a shame they were mocked for who they are,” the man admits. He looks down into his wine. “But I cannot believe that soldiers of the king would unjustly crucify. Any additions they made are shameful, but were surely not the cause of it.”

“The idea is not widely accepted among the English,” Tony points out. “Is it so hard to believe?”

“That the king’s men give into their baser instincts? Yes.”

“I have known soldiers who do so,” Peter grits out. He lets his eyes graze over Beck, who flushes angrily. “It is no simple thing to be attacked by men who care nothing for human respect.”

“You give respect to your enemies, dear Mr. Parker?” Reginald asks warily.

“I am a doctor.” Peter looks back to Reginald and gives him a playful smile. “All life is precious. Even that of which others deem savages.”

“Savages?” the governor asks. “Do you also apply that to the savages who roam the king’s land and show it none of the respect you so love?”

“With respect, General, I believe it was first their land,” Steve cuts in, looking as if he is barely restraining himself. “And we were the ones to disrespect it with our colonization.”

The table falls silent and Beck scoffs. “One might question where your loyalties lie, sirs.”

“I assure you, our loyalty is to the king,” Peter attempts, but the governor looks doubtful. 

“Your stances on some things might suggest otherwise,” he growls. “Tony, what kind of company do you keep, darling?”

Beck’s lip twitches. He certainly looks down on certain lifestyles that contrast with him preparing to bend Peter over in the middle of the forest. 

“I keep the company of a skilled doctor in Mr. Parker,” Tony replies. “And a phenomenal soldier and man in Mr. Rogers.”

“I’m sure that’s not all you find them skilled and phenomenal in,” Beck comments. Tony stands, ready to snap at someone, barely calmed by Steve’s hand sliding into his. Peter wants to expose Beck’s rape tendencies, but he has no proof. In a room full of soldiers, he can’t imagine he’ll be favored—especially after his and Steve’s defense of the native lands. 

“That is quite enough,” the governor hisses at Beck. “Lord Stark is a respected man of the king’s lands and nobility, and his lifestyle choices have been deemed respectable by the man you swear to serve. You will not make a mockery of it, or of our guests.”

Beck looks like he wants to either eat Peter or strangle him, and not in the honeyed way Harley makes it seem when he thinks Peter isn’t looking—this predatory gaze instills fright in him, the itching need to run, flee—

“Very well,” Beck hums. “Then I shall simply deliver my message. There’s been word of a patriot party just south of your estate, Reginald. What are your orders?”

The governor suddenly looks more alert. “I am not sure. Where did this information come from?”

“A scout who is waiting in the study to give you the information.”

The governor growls in annoyance. “Men, with me. Stark...you and your soldier lover can come with as well. Couldn’t hurt to have experienced input.”

The men stand, somber faces as they follow the governor from the room. Beck is still standing by the window, smirking into the view of the estate. Tony watches him warily as they walk past, stopping at Peter’s chair. 

“Will you be alright?” he murmurs. “I don’t like leaving you to him.”

“I’ll be alright,” Peter responds. “I can hold my own.”

Steve’s jaw sets. “If he does anything to you—”

“I’ll call for you,” Peter assures them. “Go. Make yourselves useful to the governor.”

Peter knows that they’ve stumbled across an opportunity to be involved in the enemy’s plans. Tony needs this, and Steve being allowed to accompany him is a sign from the governor that things are well between Tony and he. This isn’t something to refuse for multiple reasons, and Peter finds that he wants this for Tony. 

Tony takes one more moment before nodding once, sharply, and leaving the dining room. 

Peter and Beck are alone. 

“Tell me, Mr. Parker,” the captain says dryly, still looking away. “How long have you been a traitor to your king?”

Peter scoffs. “You continue with baseless accusations.”

“They are not baseless, they are deserved, and I will see you punished for them.”

“Why do you single me out so?”

“I don’t,” Beck snaps. “There are plenty who defy the king and his men, and I seek to punish them all.”

“The king and his men?” Peter scoffs. “There is your problem.”

“So you do despise the king.”

“Incorrect. His men are the problem. Executing, raping, flogging, crucifying, all because they believe they hold power in the king’s name. It’s revolting.”

“Now who speaks of baseless accusations?”

“I have seen proof of your handiwork. My accusations strike true.”

Beck has turned at this point, face close enough to Peter’s for the man to blink back in reality and realize what danger he is poking at. Beck’s eyes are wild, amused. Peter recalls seeing that look in the eyes of crazed men in the midst of death and battle. Remembering his place, he sits himself back down in his chair and clears his throat. 

“What work of mine have you seen?” Beck ponders. “I admit I’m curious to know what’s darkened you against me so.”

Peter want to scream. This man is infuriating. 

“Your treatment of me when we first met sealed the deal,” he hisses instead. “But I’m sure you can recall one hundred lashes.”

Something odd crosses over Beck’s face. He too lowers himself into a chair near Peter and leans back, almost...gazing into the wall in remembrance. “Ahh. Yes. The farmer, from the estate in Greenville. Never had I seen such resilience.”

Peter doesn’t speak. 

“You don’t understand,” Beck says breathlessly. That look on a man, Peter is quite familiar with. Disgust rolls through his stomach and he grips the arms of the chairs to steady himself. “I hadn’t given much attention to the man. If I saw him now, I do not think I could recognize his face. But I remember that body, strung up in the town square. People from all over his lands came to watch their landlord be beaten to a pulp. It was quite loud, truthfully, and people called to him. But he didn’t say anything. Only stood there, head hung and his back to us all.

“My lieutenant delivered the first hundred lashes,” he explains. “I watched, waiting for the first twenty to break him. It usually does, you see, and then they cry for mercy and I am kind enough to grant them that.”

Peter resists the urge to roll his eyes. 

“This man, though…” Beck sighs. “This man stood utterly still through twenty lashes, not once crying out or bending under the weight of pain. I had recognized his strength before, of course. Farmers tend to be strong from days in the field, on the property, that sort. And he was magnificent.”

Still is. 

“My god, he was resilient. My lieutenant delivered another thirty, as we waited for the pleas of mercy and the recognition that he was wrong. We got nothing, however. The man stood, legs shaking now, but he still stood. No tears, no begging, nothing. My man’s arm was weak with the effort to keep up his work. Do you know how much strength it takes to deliver a lengthy whipping?”

“I am a doctor, not a butcher.”

“I did not think so.” Beck leans back, a hand to his chin. “I had to take over for him, and I found that I didn’t know if I wished to stop or if I wished for him to continue. A show of strength like that...magnificent.”

Peter finds himself wishing he had a bucket to empty his stomach into, but he swallows down the acid in the back of his throat. “And what made you stop if you were so fascinated?”

“Well.” Beck’s gaze snapped back to him. “The man made it to seventy-two before his knees gave out. Eighty-five before the first cry was heard. One hundred before his body sagged and I was told he’d passed out. If I ever saw the man from the behind again, I would know that form...and be able to arrest him.”

“I do not understand your desire to persecute him further.”

“He escaped custody.”

“After a punishment that did not fit his crime.”

“How do you know this man?” Beck challenges. “Tell me, Mr. Parker, why do you defend him so?”

“I defend the man of this story,” Peter spits back. “There are tales of it across the state, Captain.”

“Ah, so we understand each other.” Beck’s voice drops dangerously and he leans forward. “I know you are a traitor, and you know what I do to people who challenge my authority.”

Peter’s skin prickles in irritation. “Are you threatening me, Captain Beck?” 

“Was I not obvious enough?”

“Captain!”

Peter jerks back, bothered at how cool and collected Beck remains. The captain looks at the men who just entered with a lecherous grin. “Lord Stark.”

“You will not threaten my brother’s physician,” Tony snaps. “Come, Peter, we’re leaving. We’re expected in town.”

Peter stands, turning to Tony and Steve. They look murderous, Steve’s hand gripping the sword at his side so tightly his knuckles are white. Tony’s face is shut down, but his eyes are blazing. “I’m alright, Tony.”

“For the moment,” Beck calls teasingly. He stands, looking at Tony now. “You have until tomorrow at noon, Stark, to deliver this man into my custody for crimes against the king. That should be enough time for the governor to give me a warrant for his arrest. Enjoy your night...my lord.”

**)-(**

They stop for water after riding, hard, for fifteen minutes. Tony leads Peter and Steve to the riverbank, where they drink a bit of water before resting at the bank. Peter looks expectantly at Tony, wanting to know what the plan was. 

“Tell me truly,” the lord says, hands raised as if he’s defending himself. “Do you mean my family harm? Would you betray us to the loyalists for your own personal gain?”

“This again?” Peter snaps. “I am going to be imprisoned because of you, and you’re asking me this?”

“Answer the question!” Tony raises his voice. “Are you with us?”

“Despite my previous treatment and the fact that your family held me prisoner? Yes, I am with you. I will not betray you, as I feel I’ve proven already.”

“And Harley?”

Peter’s stomach flips. “What of Harley?”

“His safety is of the utmost importance to me,” Tony stresses. “Harley is my child, and I will not endanger him anymore than I can help. Is he safe in your company? You will protect him from the law until we can have him pardoned, if it comes to it?”

“Yes,” Peter says without thinking. “Yes, I will protect Harley. I would...I would die for him. I would care for him. Above all of you, even. Always Harley.”

Tony’s shoulders relax and he rubs a hand over his beard. “I have a solution to you avoiding arrest.”

“Excellent, why didn’t we start with that?”

“Tony needed to be sure,” Steve says seriously. “And the water would have told us the truth.”

“The water…?” Peter makes a face. 

“The Liar’s Spring has just proved you mean us no harm, mean my family no harm.” Tony explains. When Peter squeaks indignantly, Tony holds up a hand. “You can yell at me about deception later. Right now you need to listen to me because I am trying to protect you. Can you manage that?”

Peter bites his tongue and crosses his arms. 

“Now,” Tony says. “North Carolina law gives a significant amount of weight to the idea of family and reputation and power. Beck would have to have tangible, undeniable proof that you did something wrong to accuse a member of the Stark house of anything.”

“You have a niece to marry me off to?” Peter blanches, understanding exactly what Tony means. “Because that’s it, right? You want me to marry someone and officially become your family.”

“Not quite, Petey,” Tony grins. “Cause I’ve got something better than a niece.”

Peter’s stomach flips at the mischief in his eyes and how Steve stifles a smile. 

“You’re going to marry  _ Harley _ .”


	7. Harley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Is this some misguided attempt at forcing my hand?”
> 
> “No,” Tony insists. “He needs to marry a blood relative. Our name will protect him. Would you like to take him to Greenville to marry Abigail?”
> 
> Harley glowers. “You know full well I don’t want him marrying anyone but me.”
> 
> “Then why are you resisting?”
> 
> “Because he’s being forced into this! He doesn’t want me.”
> 
> An odd expression crosses over Tony’s features, as if recalling something. “I wouldn’t be so sure, kid. I think he might feel something for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love making my own laws and logic. Gotta love fanfic.  
> Welcome to the wedding chapter! After this, only the epilogue ;)  
> Endless love to those who read <3

Harley walks into the room with sweating hands. He’s been unable to make eye contact with Peter since they sat down for a celebratory supper neither of them touched. He knows what’s expected of a newlywed couple after a wedding, and he knows Peter is aware of the expectations between them. He also knows Peter looks horribly uncomfortable and that is unacceptable.

“I’m starving,” Harley says softly. He wants back the easy companionship they’ve had and thinks it might be best to do it over a meal. “Why don’t you get settled, and I’ll go get some wine and food?”

“Yes, that would be nice,” Peter says gratefully. It's written in the drop of his shoulders, and Harley recalls how Peter often requires a moment to gather himself. Thus, he slips back downstairs and passes his uncles and his friends. He gets a lot of gentle ribbing, questions about what on earth he’s doing with a groom like that waiting for him. He ignores it as best he can, filling a plate with bread and roasted beef. He steals the entire plate of fruits and cheeses, and tucks a large flask of wine under his arm to add to the whiskey already upstairs. 

“What do you need so much food for?” Clint calls out teasingly. He and Nat look more vulnerable than they normally do in front of others, her body languidly draped over him. The pair does love a good wedding. 

“I’m not planning to be down for a long while,” Harley jeers back, trying to stay lighthearted and also putting on a show for others at the inn. There needs to be no doubt. “And _you_ lot better stay firmly on this side of the door. We won’t be needing you tonight!”

Cheers come up from the crowd, some from men who don’t know Harley but love to be part of the fun anyhow. The sound of their encouragement carries up the stairs and to his room, where he kicks the door shut with his feet and takes pleasure in how the noise dulls. Peter is sitting at the little table in the room, boots off and his wedding coat hanging on the corner of the wardrobe. As Harley places the food down, the glass of wine he’s drinking shakes a bit.

“Peter,” Harley says soothingly, placing the wine on the table as well. “You don’t have to be frightened. I’ve no mind to take you against your will.”

“I didn’t think you would,” Peter says immediately. “I know you, Harley, enough to know that. It’s only...I do have questions.”

“Anything you want to know, I’ll tell,” Harley tells him earnestly. He sits across from Peter and strips his boots off gladly. “What do you want to know?”

“Why did you agree to do this?” the brunette blurts out. He colors and looks back to this glass. “I didn’t have much of a choice—I need Tony’s protection from Beck. You, though...you had a choice to say no.”

Harley sighs. “To be truthful, Peter, I do not think I actually did.”

_“You know that I am...fond of Peter,” Harley snaps. He’s standing with Tony and Rhodey where they’ve made camp, the sounds of everyone preparing to leave hardly distracting him from what Tony has just suggested. “Is this some misguided attempt at forcing my hand?”_

_“No,” Tony insists. “He needs to marry a blood relative. Our name will protect him. Would you like to take him to Greenville to marry Abigail?”_

_Harley glowers. “You know full well I don’t want him marrying anyone but me.”_

_“Then why are you resisting?”_

_“Because he’s being forced into this! He doesn’t want me.”_

_An odd expression crosses over Tony’s features, as if recalling something. “I wouldn’t be so sure, kid. I think he might feel something for you.”_

_“Do you even know if he wants...men?” Rhodey asks. “He had a wife before.”_

_“Is that necessary?” Harley cringes. “It’s just a quick marriage to protect Peter from Beck.”_

_“Actually, yes,” Rhodey tells him pointedly. “I’m sorry, Harley, but the law is the only thing that will protect us. We need to have Peter part of the family legally, and without a doubt. That requires consummation.”_

_“We’re men, and Peter was married before me,” Harley sputters. “Why is consummation important? It’s not like I can take Peter’s maidenhood.”_

_“Maidenhood?” Tony scoffs. “Archaic. Regardless, sex is vital for Englishmen. They like to still assume that it is an important right of passage for marriage.”_

_“Which means witnesses,” Rhodey adds. “There can be no doubt.”_

_Harley digs the heels of his hands into his eyes. “So that brings us back to the question. Will he even be able to take me to bed?”_

_Tony purses his lips. “It’s not my place to say, son, but if it’s that important...yes, Steve has assured me Peter is attracted to men. He’s like me, I think.”_

_That’s an interesting fact, one that makes Harley’s chest flutter with something he apparently only ever associates with Peter. There’s some chance he might have with the man, then._

_“Harley, look at me,” Tony says softly. Harley obeys, eyes finding those of the man who raised him as his own. “You care for Peter, I know you do. You have since we brought him into our company. You don’t wish for him to befall any harm, correct?”_

_Harley nods._

_“You know more than anyone what happens to those under Beck’s charge. He’s already attempted to rape Peter before Nat stopped him. If we don’t do this tonight, Beck will have convinced the governor to hand over a warrant, especially after Peter and Steve misbehaving at lunch. You can protect him, son. The question is...will you?”_

_Harley’s jaw sets, resolute. “You know I will.”_

_“Good. Then let’s get a wedding in motion.”_

“You married me to keep me safe,” Peter breathes, eyes wide. “From Beck.”

“Of course I did,” Harley says. He takes a moment to leave his chair and kneel by Peter. “I made you a promise, Peter, that so long as I was with you, you would know kindness and safety. I intend to keep my promise. And through this marriage, you have my name and my family and the protection of my body, in any way necessary.”

Peter’s hand reaches out to Harley’s cheek. The touch is gentle, but open as Peter’s eyes blaze at him with a warmth he’s not felt before. “I’ve done nothing in my life to deserve you, Harley James Keener Stark. But I am so fortunate to call you my husband. You are a good man.”

Harley now finds himself as nervous as Peter was before. He pulls away and goes to find the water pitcher. Pouring himself a glass, he hears Peter moving around. There’s a shuffle of clothes, and he has to summon the strength to set his cup down and pull his coat off. He’s been dreaming of this moment for months, since Peter came into his life. Why can he not summon his courage to do what he wants if Peter is willing?

“It’s late,” Peter says softly. “And we’ve had a long day. You should come to bed.”

“Come to bed?” Harley asks. His heart thuds in his chest, and he turns around to face a delightfully shirtless Peter, lithe muscles moving with every step. “Or go to sleep?”

Peter’s hand glides over the spot on the bed next to him with a soft smile. “Come to bed, Harley.”

“Yes sir,” Harley answers dryly. His feet carry him to the bed, where he sits on the edge next to Peter. The brunette smiles at him, reaching a hand between them. Feeling a bit of perspiration at the base of his spine, Harley pushes past nerves and intertwines their fingers. “May I kiss you?”

Peter’s smile widens, and he nods. 

Harley leans forward and uses his free hand to cup Peter’s cheek. He cannot resist the temptation to press his lips to the other man’s forehead, to graze a kiss across his exposed cheek or let his forehead rest against the man he can now call husband. Peter’s shaking just so, and though Harley wants, he can’t bring himself to push. He isn't utterly confident in where Peter stands.

“Are you sure?” he breathes, eyes closed as his grip on Peter’s hand tightens. “I need to know you are absolutely sure, darling.”

Peter doesn’t answer with words. Instead, he tilts his chin until their lips meet in a surprised, open-mouthed kiss. Harley’s skin lights up at the contact, and he slides his hand from Peter’s cheek to his neck to keep a firm hold. In turn, Peter’s hands grip Harley’s shoulders and he kisses harder, a slight whimper coming from the back of his throat that makes Harley reach for his hips. He intends to pull Peter closer, but his husband takes it as extremely close and swings a leg over Harley’s lap until he’s seated on Harley as one would a saddle. 

Harley groans at the close contact. He takes pleasure in running hands along Peter’s back. Beautiful, unmarred skin is smooth under his touch, and he trails a finger up Peter’s spine so that he shivers. 

Harley does it again, this time using his nail and a little more pressure, and Peter moans into the kiss. His tongue slides along Harley’s, hands twisting into Harley’s hair. “Fuck, Harley.”

It’s a peculiar curse, but the way Peter says it makes it sound like a prayer, and Harley finds he wants to swallow that prayer with another kiss. He tilts his head back up for one, and Peter’s lips open willingly. 

They spend some time like that, only kissing. Harley learns how Peter likes his hands in Harley’s hair, twisting into the strands or scratching at the scalp. He kisses deeply, and his hips give light little movements when Harley nips at his bottom lip or sucks a bruise into his collarbone. After that, he whispers encouragement for Harley to take his shirt off, and watches with hungry eyes when the bare skin is revealed. It makes him lean down and kiss along Harley’s torso. There’s nothing quite like Peter’s lips, teeth, and tongue tasting their way across his chest and abdominals. 

Peter pulls them into standing next, reaching for his own breeches. “Are you certain about this, Harley?”

Harley nearly laughs. Is he certain? 

“Yes,” he says instead. To prove it, he swallows his nerves and removes his own clothing, leaving himself completely exposed to the other man. Peter’s gaze drops to Harley’s member and he licks his lips. It seems to give him the courage, and he divests himself of his own clothes. Harley barely has the chance to take in the glorious body in front of him before Peter has them pressed together, tilting up to claim Harley’s lips with his own. 

Harley burns under his skin at the feeling of bare skin flush against his. His past experiences never gave him this, the exposure with another man, the trust and security flowing between them. He kisses Peter back, hard, wanting anything and everything he’s got to offer. 

“How would you like to do this?” Peter asks him as he walks Harley against the bed again. “I’m no stranger to a marriage bed, and I want this to be good for you, Harley.”

“I’ve thought about—” Harley cuts himself off, feeling the misery of heat spread. Is he supposed to admit to Peter that his dreams of late have been full of nothing but the brunette man fulfilling his deepest wants? To be lovingly, tenderly cherished while also being driven out of his mind?

“Harley,” Peter whispers. His hands, smooth and clean, tangle into the hair at the base of Harley’s head. “Have you thought about me?”

“Yes,” Harley admits weakly, eyes fluttering shut. It feels like nothing else, the pressure releasing in his head as Peter pulls again. “I’ve thought about you more than I care to admit.”

Peter’s hum sounds somewhat satisfied, and Harley keeps his eyes closed to avoid the embarrassment of it. “And what have you thought of me doing?”

Harley bites his lip. 

Suddenly, there’s a wet heat at Harley’s ear. He hardens more as Peter shifts in his lap and kisses at the spot behind his ear. His breath ghosts over Harley's skin. 

“Tell me, love,” Peter insists. He sounds like he’s been holding back as well. “Tell me what you want, and I swear I’ll make it happen if I can.”

Now that’s a tempting offer, and Harley suddenly can’t stop himself from gripping Peter’s bum and burying his face in the other man’s chest. “In my dreams, you take me. I don’t know how all of it works, of course, but I wonder what you’ll feel like and I wish you were inside of me... taking me as you wish. I was never sure if you’d want me or—”

“Harley,” Peter groans. “Oh, love, of course I do.”

“You do?” Harley pulls back. “And you’d do that for me?”

“Yes,” Peter says. He gently pulls Harley’s hair again so they look each other in the eye. “Lay back, alright? Against the pillows.”

Harley nods. As Peter eases off of him, he obeys and pushes himself back until he’s settled against the pillows at the headboard. Peter stands at the end of the bed with his cock curving towards his stomach. Harley can hardly believe this is his husband. This is a man who is letting Harley look his fill, taking in the flush of his cheeks, the slight parting of his lips, the way he crouches on the bed in front of him like Harley, Harley of all people, is what he wants. 

“You’re magnificent,” Harley can’t help but tell him. “I’ve never seen anything like you.”

Peter makes a noise of disbelief as a hand reaches forward to gently urge Harley’s thighs apart. “You’re beautiful, Harley. I knew from the moment I saw you that nobody was as gorgeous as you.”

Harley can admit; he preens under the praise. “You’re a flatterer.”

“I prefer to claim honesty,” Peter murmurs, and that seems to be the end of his discussion as he lowers himself. Harley’s expecting him to come further up, but Peter continues to surprise. Instead, he lowers his head to Harley’s thighs, pressing open mouthed kisses to the skin there. Harley gasps as he does, little shocks of pleasure shooting up his body as teeth nip and lips kiss. 

And then, without warning, Peter takes Harley in his mouth. 

If Harley were more present, he would be ashamed of how his eyes roll to the back of his head and he groans, deep and guttural as Peter takes his cock in his mouth, tongue moving expertly along the way. However, he is so far gone he cannot be bothered to do anything but arch his shoulders from the bed and cry out at how good it feels to have Peter swirling his tongue around the head, then hollowing his cheeks to create a painfully perfect amount of pressure. 

“Peter,” Harley whimpers. “Sweetheart, I can feel it coming, I don’t know…”

Peter pulls off with one last swirl to the head of Harley’s cock, a hand moving to grip the base. “Not yet, love.”

Harley feels hollow and he whines, unable to offer words. 

“Do you trust me?” Peter looks like sin in the candlelight, how his eyes water slightly and his lips are wet and pink. His eyes look impossibly darker and Harley wants. He isn’t sure what it is exactly he’s craving, but he needs Peter in a way he’s not sure he’s ever needed anything before. “Harley?”

“Yes,” he rasps. “I trust you.”

“Hand me the oil next to the pillow.”

Harley shivers at the raspiness of Peter’s voice, but he obeys with shaky hands. It’s mesmerizing to watch the other man unstop the bottle and tilt it, the oil cascading over Peter’s fingers. It catches the light, glistening as Peter gives him a sly look. “I’m going to touch you now.”

Harley nods. “Please.”

Peter’s confidence falters for a moment, a needy expression crossing his features before his eyes drop back to his work. “Be patient, and trust me.”

Unable to draw his eyes away, Harley watches as Peter’s mouth lowers back over his cock. The sight is as nearly intoxicating as the wet heat enveloping him. Peter’s eyelashes flutter on his cheeks, a finger strokes down to Harley’s hole, and Peter begins to tease the ring of muscle there. Harley has never touched himself there more intimately than Peter is now, and he feels anxiousness at the thought. Someone else is going to touch the innermost part of him, and it is his husband. 

Peter. 

The brunette continues to bob his head up and down Harley’s shaft, while a solitary finger pushes past the ring of muscle. It’s foreign and slightly uncomfortable, but Harley trusts Peter. He stays laid back, allowing himself to focus on the pleasure of Peter’s mouth while his hole adjusts to the intrusion. As it does, Peter inserts another finger and Harley makes a little keening noise in the back of his throat. That’s beginning to feel rather nice. A certain...fullness, despite how tight he still is. 

And then, Peter pushes deeper and crooks a finger, and Harley’s vision disappears for a moment. He can feel his legs drop open in a boneless motion, his chest releasing a strangled sound of “More, Peter, more--”

“Patient,” Peter pulls off to whisper again, spreading his fingers. “You need to be prepared, or it’ll hurt, and we don’t want that.”

Harley whines, past words once more as a finger brushes over the spot inside him again. He’s so hard he thinks he’ll burst, and it feels so good to have Peter’s breath ghosting up his cock without swallowing him down anymore. There’s a smirk on his husband’s face, one he tries to hide in the line of his thigh, but Harley can tell he’s pleased. 

When it feels like ages have passed, Peter withdraws his fingers. Harley takes the opportunity to sit up, reaching a hand out to cup Peter’s head and pull him in for a kiss. It’s messy, Harley too frustrated without release to truly care. Peter moans into it, almost tipping back towards the cushion with how their bodies slide together. It’s too good, and Harley is nearly desperate enough to start rutting against Peter’s cock, but he’s stopped by his husband’s thighs kneeling between his. 

“Peter,” Harley whispers. “Please, I know you said be patient, but I can’t, I need you in me, please.”

“Yes,” Peter says into another searing kiss. “Lay back again. I promise it will be good, Harley.”

Harley leans back, but stays propped up on his elbows so he can watch Peter adjust, taking his own cock in his hand and pushing forward. His eyes raise to Harley’s and he tilts his head in a final question. Harley answers with a small nod, to which Peter smiles. He leans forward until he’s hovering above Harley, lining himself up and pushing in. Harley stiffens instinctually at first, but as Peter’s hips push himself forward more, Harley feels his muscles relax like melting butter and he gasps as his elbows give out and he’s back on the pillow.

Peter, for his part, stutters out a curse and drops his head to Harley’s shoulder. “Jesus Christ, Harley.”

His hands come up to Peter’s shoulders as the man stills, deciding to move things forward before he loses his mind. His legs spread more and he raises shaky legs to wrap around Peter’s hips. 

“Harley, what--”

Harley uses the newfound leverage and snaps his hips to pull Peter as far into him as he can manage. Peter cries out, fully seated in Harley, and Harley worries his limbs will go loose. Only years of riding horseback keep his legs locked around his lover’s hips as he shakes with need. 

Peter is breathing harshly into Harley’s neck, so he selfishly turns and captures those breaths in a kiss. Peter seems to focus on that, kissing back with fervor and adjusting to support himself with one arm on one side of Harley’s hand. “This isn’t going to last long.”

“It doesn’t need to,” Harley whispers. “Take me, darling. You said you would, didn’t you? Are you a man of your word?”

“Hush,” Peter giggles, pressing down for another kiss. “And let me show you.”

Peter’s hips snap forward, and Harley bites down a shout into Peter’s shoulder. 

“Oh no,” he whispers, driving into Harley again. “Let me hear you, doll. Let me know how it feels.”

He snaps his hips once, twice, three times, and the third time hits the mark. Lights dance behind Harley’s eyes and he lets out a loud moan, nails scratching at Peter’s back in search of some kind of purchase. “Pe...Peter, sweetheart, goddamn it.”

“That’s it,” Peter is watching him with eyes blown with lust and lips parted so he takes shallow breaths. “You look so lovely, I wish you knew, so beautiful.”

Peter hits the magical spot inside of Harley again and he clenches around Peter. “More, please, I need more.”

“Yes,” Peter says lovingly. The hand gripping Harley’s length begins to move, and Harley won’t last, he won’t he’s going to--

Harley calls out Peter’s name, and his vision whites out. 

**)-(**

When Harley wakes up, Peter is leaning against the headboard. He looks unfairly beautiful while sipping a cup of water, staring down at the iron ring on his hand. It’s quiet in the room, the fire crackling the only thing to break the silence. 

Peter must feel him staring, because his hand reaches out to brush Harley's cheek. “Hello again.”

Harley hums in reply. 

“How do you feel?”

“Good. A little sore, but…” _I can still feel you in me. I want it again._ “Good.”

“I’m glad,” Peter scoots down a little more until he’s laying next to Harley, their fingers dancing together between them. “Was it like you thought it’d be? Being with me?”

“Better,” Harley admits. He contemplates telling Peter the truth of what he expected, of stories he’s heard. “I thought...no, you'll laugh.”

Peter’s grin is unguarded. “Tell me, please. Maybe I need a laugh after my long day.”

“Well, I…” Harley clears his throat and looks to the ceiling. “I thought you were supposed to do it like a horse. Not...face to face, how we did.”

Peter _does_ laugh, his head falling back to expose a neck Harley wants to kiss. “No, love, you don’t have to mount someone to have sex. I find I much prefer being able to see my partner.”

“So you enjoyed yourself, then?” Harley asks before he can convince himself not to. “Of course, I could tell you finished, but I know that doesn't always mean someone exactly enjoyed it.”

Peter’s smile drops, but he doesn’t pull away from Harley. “I did enjoy myself, so much. I didn't want to, truthfully, because I haven’t been widowed too long and the whole situation was less than ideal. But I haven’t enjoyed myself that much in quite some time.”

There’s a faraway look in Peter’s eyes, like he’s remembering something painful and sad, and Harley feels immense guilt for ever asking. He thinks of a way to bring comfort, and realizes Peter’s mentioned how long of a day they’ve had. 

“What do you say to me having someone bring a bath in for us?” he asks tentatively. “Let me take care of you.”

“You’re perfect,” Peter sighs. “A bath sounds wonderful.”

He takes a chance to lean over and press a kiss to Peter’s jaw. “I’ll be right back.”

**)-(**

“Tony tried to get me to stay downstairs.”

Peter chuckles as they ease into the hot water of the tub. Harley can admit it soothes him immediately. 

“Oh?” his husband asks. “And why is that?”

“Apparently, you should never be too eager to return to a lover. He thinks I’m showing my heart too much.”

“You always do,” Peter teases. They’ve certainly regained their comfort, if the way he’s leaning back into Harley’s chest says anything. “What did you tell him?”

“I said I was completely under your power and happy to be there.” Harley presses a kiss to Peter’s hair, reaching for the soap beside them. “And I told him that because it’s true. I also told him that you also knew it.”

Peter snuggles closer. “You’re too kind. May I ask another question?”

“Always.”

“We had new coats, nicer ones for the wedding. Where did they come from in so little time?’

“Nat rode like hell to the town over, where her tailor of a cousin lent her two that would fit us. She brought them to me just before the ceremony.”

“Nat?” Peter asks in surprise. “Did Tony send her?”

“No,” Harley chuckles. “She wanted to do something special for me.”

“Are you closer than I’ve seen, then?”

Harley hums acknowledgement as he rubs the bar of soap into Peter’s skin. The man sags a little more, and his head falls back to Harley’s shoulder with a sigh. “She’s my godmother, a close friend of my mother’s growing up. The only reason she is in Tony’s company is because she watches over me.”

“We’re talking about the same woman downstairs?”

“She’s quiet, and operates from the background, but yes. You’ll most likely see more of her now we’re married. She often visits in evenings for dinner or a glass of whiskey.”

“Does she approve of me?”

“She does. You have a kind soul, similar to that of my mother, and the strength of my father. She mostly cares that I’m happy.”

“I look forward to getting to know her better,” Peter says softly. Harley’s hand slides over his, their rings glinting together in the low light of the fire. “And this ring? Where did it come from?”

“Greenville,” Harley kisses Peter’s shoulder. “When I left, Abby sent a key with Nat so I’d have a piece of home. I’ve always thought it was a bit pretentious, being delicate and gold and such, and it seemed perfect to make rings from it.”

Peter, despite being covered in a film of suds, twists in Harley’s arms. He looks startled, flushed from the bath, with hair curling where its gotten wet. “You swore your vows to me with a ring made from the literal key to your family home?”

“I did.”

Harley has little warning before Peter surges forward and captures his lips in a kiss. 

_“You look handsome.”_

_Harley colors at Nat’s words. “Don’t tease me.”_

_“I’m not,” Nat promises, hands smoothing the front of his coat. “Tony, tell him I’m not.”_

_“She isn’t,” Tony says obediently. “You look quite handsome, son. Any man would be proud to have you as a husband.”_

_Harley swallows._

_“I know this isn’t how you wanted it to go.” Tony shifts. “But I’m proud of you, and I love you. We love you.”_

_“Thank you,” Harley blinks through the stinging in his eyes. “Both of you, for everything you’ve done for me. I know that I am who I am because of you."_

_Nat leans up on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. “It has been the deepest honor of my life to love and raise you in your mother’s stead.”_

_“We couldn’t have asked for someone better to have as a child,” Tony clasps his shoulder. “Nat is right. There’s no greater honor.”_

_They hug him, and then they’re turning towards the door. Peter is already inside the chapel, standing at the altar and looking more handsome than Harley could have possibly predicted in clothes of white. He looks nervous, though, like he’s expecting something bad to happen. Harley wishes he could take away those nerves, give him a comfort and security that Harley always feels around him._

_He doesn’t understand, Harley thinks weakly as he’s urged down the aisle by his godparents. He doesn’t understand exactly how much I care for him. I’ll have to tell him, somehow, and often, as long as it’s welcome._

_When he arrives at the altar, Harley dips his head in respect to Peter. “Your servant, sir.”_

_Peter’s lips part in a shallow breath. “Harley…”_

_Harley tilts his head in question, and Peter’s mouth shuts. Instead, he takes off the wedding ring Harley’s seen him wear since they came to know one another. He slips it into his pocket, leaving his hand bare and prepared for Harley’s ring. For a new marriage._

_He takes it as a sign of commitment, and they turn towards the priest._

“What did our vows mean?” Peter asks as they’re drying off from their bath. “Not the English ones, of course, I’m familiar with the concept of ‘til death do us part.’ The Scottish ones we said in honor of your father’s heritage.”

Harley turns to his bag of clothes, where his wedding gift awaits. “You are blood of my blood, and bone of my bone.”

He pulls his gift from the bag.

“I give you my body, that we two may be one.”

He turns to approach Peter, who still looks delectably flushed. 

“I give you my spirit, til our life shall be done.”

Peter licks his lips. “Those are beautiful vows, Harley. And...what are those?”

“Pearls,” he whispers, taking a step closer. “I know you might not have much use for them, but they were a gift from my father to my mother on their wedding day. Scotch pearls, from his family. They’re very precious to me, and I hope by giving you these, you understand that you are also precious to me.”

Peter takes them with tears in his eyes, hands running along the pearls delicately, as if he knows what this means. “When I said I wanted you, Harley, I meant it. I want you more than I care to admit.”

“Because of your wife.” 

“Yes. I love—loved her. Towards the end, we were so different and our perspectives changed, but I did love her. I said my vows and I meant it. But the vows I said for you, especially understanding them, are different. My feelings for you...are different.”

Harley can see that there is some shame in how Peter feels for him, and he knows it won’t be fixed overnight. Harley also knows, however, that the feelings between them run deep. There’s time, plenty of it, for them to grow and fall in love and learn each other. 

“I am devoted to you,” Harley promises. “More so than I know what to do with.”

Peter kisses him then, drawing their bodies together. Harley melts into it, arms wrapping around him so that they’re close, skin against skin. As he’s discovered with every moment close to Peter, his body comes alive and responds eagerly

“Go lay down on the chaise,” Peter pulls away to gasp. Harley gives him a confused look, and his eyes light up. “I thought you trusted me, husband?”

The word sends a shiver down Harley’s spine. “Yes sir.”

Harley pulls away and walks to the lounge chair in the room, near the fire. He lowers himself onto it, lying back and watching Peter find the oil from before. As he steps up to Harley, he places the Scottish pearls around his neck, looping the strand twice. It’s a beautiful sight, an aroused Peter, wearing nothing but the pearls—Harley’s intimate gift. 

Harley’s breath is stolen so quickly he wonders if he’ll ever breathe again. 

“You’re going to prepare me,” Peter says softly, striding close. “If you’d like, I want you inside me.”

Harley swallows. “I would like to try.”

“I’m pleased,” Peter sighs. He throws a leg over Harley and supports himself on his knees. “I know you’ll be so good.”

Harley is man enough to admit he desperately wants to rise to the challenge. He lets Peter pour the oil on his fingers, then direct his hand behind him. “Start by doing what you remember me doing to you, and I’ll help you if you need.”

Harley can’t help it. As he reaches for Peter’s bum, he tilts his chin to be able to kiss Peter, who responds eagerly. It’s a slow kiss, no less deep then their others, but much less urgent. It matches the pace with which Harley’s fingers gently find themselves familiar with Peter’s entrance, the ring of muscle is resistant at first, but quickly accommodates once Peter presses down a little more to encourage the first finger sliding in. 

Peter whines into the kiss, and the sound travels to Harley’s already interested cock. “Harley, you don’t have to be so gentle with me.”

“What about needing to prepare?” Harley teases in response. He moves his lips across Peter’s jaw and to his neck, sucking into the pale skin there. Peter tilts his head to give him more access and sighs one of those long, blissful sighs that tell Harley he’s doing something right. 

When Peter tells him to, he adds a second finger and moves them in a mirrored movement to what he remembers. The seems to be the correct course, as Peter gasps into the kiss and moves his hips so their cocks brush together. Harley curses into their kiss, his hand sliding deeper. He feels his fingers brush over something different and he knows its the same spot he reacted to because Peter’s eyes glaze over. 

It’s an addicting sight. 

“Now,” Peter whimpers. “Please, Harley.”

Who is Harley to refuse? He easily lifts Peter’s hips so he can rub oil onto his own shaft, before Peter shamelessly eases down onto him. It’s overwhelming, Peter crying out with his head fallen back in pleasure, tight heat sending Harley’s eyes rolling to the back of his head. 

Harley curses in either Gaelic or Italian, he isn't sure, and holds tighter to Peter’s hips. His husband isn’t moving, just adjusting, but he’s trembling. “It’s been so long...and you feel...incredible.”

“Me?” Harley croaks. He kisses Peter again. “Darling, you, are otherworldly.”

Peter giggles and they kiss once more, deep and languid. Harley holds back from an instinctual desire to thrust up into the heat encasing him. It’s killing him to hold back, but he wants this to be perfect for Peter. He waits, kisses and trails his hands across skin he’s allowed to touch, greedy and delighted. 

Then, without warning, Peter lifts his ass and slides back down. 

Harley groans, the sound drawn from deep within his gut, and he wonders if he’s died and is experiencing some slice of heaven. His hands grip Peter’s back, his lips swallow his cries of pleasure, and his toes actually curl from the feeling. When Peter arches back, Harley nibbles and licks along his skin, whatever his mouth can reach. In turn, Peter’s hands twist into his hair for purchase and he moves harder. 

The pearls slide along Peter’s skin in time with his thrusts, and the sight nearly drives Harley mad right there. 

Not able to take it anymore, Harley lets his hips snap to meet Peter’s movements. It’s the perfect edge that they needed, and Peter whimpers with every movement and Harley just knows, knows it’s hitting exactly where it needs to. Feeling that he’s going to fall over the edge soon, he moves a hand between them to grasp Peter’s length in his hand. The man above his shudders. 

“H-Harley…”

“You think I’m perfect?” Harley rasps, lips at Peter’s ear where he’s leaning over Peter. “You’re phenomenal, darling. There is nothing like you, nothing so sensual and gorgeous—” every snap of his hips accents his words, and Peter cries out every time. “I am completely under your power, love, you possess me—”

“And you, me,” Peter says, pulling back to look at Harley. He’s utterly wrecked, lips red and raw, eyes brimming. “Harley, I am yours.”

And they fall over the edge together.


	8. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He tries to say “I love you” as Harley looks up curiously. He tries to say it, wants it to be a pure and precious moment between them. He finds that he can’t, however, bogged down by the thought that Harley doesn’t know the truth. 
> 
> So instead, he says “I’m from a different time.”
> 
> “What?” Harley chuckles, head tilted in confusion. “What do you mean?”

When Peter realizes he loves Harley James Keener Stark, they’re sitting in their own quarters in the Stark plantation. Harley is reading aloud to Peter from a recently published book of poems. Peter is pouring them both a fresh glass of wine, and listening to the comforting lilt of Harley’s voice. It’s safe, a warm breeze floats through the windows, and he can smell the honeysuckle that grows beneath Harley’s window. 

Peter is exactly where and when he belongs.

“Harley,” he says, timid and nervous. “Harley, I—”

He tries to say “I love you” as Harley looks up curiously. He tries to say it, wants it to be a pure and precious moment between them. He finds that he can’t, however, bogged down by the thought that Harley doesn’t know the truth. 

So instead, he says “I’m from a different time.”

“What?” Harley chuckles, head tilted in confusion. “What do you mean?”

It takes a long time. Harley sits on the bed with his legs crossed, attentive and focused as Peter tells his story. He speaks about the war, about Michelle, about how he knows things about the Revolutionary War and the victory that is to come for their country. About the freedoms that are close. He walks through seeing the ceremony on Samhain, and then Craigh Na Dun and his journey through North Carolina with Harley and the rest of their company. He explains his hesitation to love and his determination to leave, but how he ultimately couldn’t because of their marriage. 

“And truthfully, I don’t expect you to believe me,” Peter admits in conclusion. “But I had to tell you.”

Harley moves slowly, standing from the bed. Peter wishes he didn’t look so lovely in candlelight. “I know the legends. I believe them. And I cannot think of a reason for you to pretend. In truth, it makes the way you acted when you first came here more...reasonable. Your confusion, how you couldn’t explain where you came from, and your strange clothes.”

There’s...steel, in Harley’s voice, and his head is ducked. Peter twists his hands together and steps closer. “Darling?”

Harley steps back. 

"You're angry with me." Peter’s heart cracks, just a bit, but he knows itЭs reasonable anger. "You should be, I lied to you—"

"It's not about—!" Harley cuts himself off, raising his fists as he turns away. His shoulders are trembling and his voice is tight, but in a way that seems it might break. "It's  _ what  _ you lied about, Peter. You said you belonged to me, that you were mine. I don't claim to possess you, sweetheart, but you _ offered _ those words. You said them, our first night together, and  _ they were falsehoods _ !"

"They weren't!" Peter doesn't approach, but he wants to. "Harley, love, they were the truth, I told you!"

"They were lies!" Harley whirls back around. There are tears in his eyes and he speaks through sobs. "You belonged to someone else, you were  _ sworn to someone else _ . Our marriage is...I have been lying with someone else's  _ husband! _ I have  _ taken part in infidelity _ , not just physically, but…"

"You love me," Peter finishes for him. He does step close now, fisting his hands into Harley's vest. "As I love you. I do, I love you Harley, and my marriage to Michelle was long over when we met. You know that, I told you long ago." 

"It doesn't change the existence of your  _ marriage _ , Peter." 

"My marriage was no longer valid when I was in a different time." Peter searches for a way to make him understand. "Harley, I will never forget the love I had for Michelle. But what we have is something that literally altered the fate of the nation, that belonged so strongly the impossible became possible. Can you not see that? Time and space changed so I would come to you because this is where I should be. At your side, in your bed,  _ in your heart _ ." 

Harley sucks in a sharp breath. He reaches out to hold Peter's waist, bringing him close so that they're flush against one another. His fingers are most likely bruising Peter's skin from the force of his grip, but it grounds Peter and reminds him Harley is still here holding on. 

"So you are not telling me this because you wish to leave me?”

“Wish to leave you?” Peter laughs weakly. “No, love, never. I’m telling you so that there’s nothing between us. I’m telling you that I want to stay with you until I’m nothing but bone and dust, because this is right, this is what I want.  _ You _ are what I want.”

Harley tucks his face into Peter’s hair, squeezing closer. “I love you, Peter. I mean what I said that night, more so every day. I want to believe you feel the same, but you loved Michelle at one time.”

“Not like this,” Peter admits, shame coursing through him. “Oh Harley, not like this.”

They don’t say anything for a long time, but Peter has no doubts. He knows that his husband loves him. There are insecurities to fight, a war almost in full force, but for once, he isn’t shaken. When he and Michelle parted ways for their assignments, Peter was worried about their relationship and the future. With Harley, though, there’s no fear--there’s still some shame, of course, because its true that his love for Harley outshines anything he’s ever known—but there is no hesitation anymore. He and Harley are meant to be together. They’ll work through this, they will survive the war, and they will live a long and happy life together.    
  
  
  
  
  


**_Two Hundred Years in the Future_ **

Michelle Jones’ life goes on. There’s a period of waiting, when she gets daily calls from the police with updates that are less than encouraging. It’s as if her husband has vanished into thin air, and all that he left behind was a book and his shoes. The car remained unmoved, there were no signs of struggle, and there was nothing to investigate. The police only have empty words of condolence for her, and eventually urge her to return home to New York. 

She does. Michelle is a professor, and her classrooms are once again full of students eager to learn their history. She lives and breathes that work, speaks of the birth and growth of America. It’s a welcome distraction from the many emotions Peter’s disappearance leaves behind—her guilt, her confusion, her insatiable need to simply  _ know _ . All of these plague her unless she is at the front of the classroom, or reading papers and examinations. 

There are moments, though, when the marks are given out and the classroom is empty, when Michelle’s heart aches. She recalls Peter’s insistence that they take a second honeymoon of sorts. He wanted them to mend the gap that had grown, to fall in love with one another again. After all, they loved each other for years before. Could they not find their way back to one another?

_ No _ , Michelle used to think, laying in the bed next to him and wishing she were alone.  _ No, my dearest, we cannot.  _

_ I left him long before he was taken,  _ she sometimes thinks, guilty tears stinging her eyes.  _ And now he might be even more alone.  _

On some such nights—like tonight—she sits at her desk with nothing but the low light of her lamp, and her mind turns over their last few days together, and wonders where he might be. Is he lonely, or is he with others? Is he safe, or is he miserable?

“Mrs. Jones?”

Michelle blinks the tears away and looks up. In front of her is one of her favorite students, Georgiana. She looks tired, a stack of books in her arms that is much too impractical for a girl like herself. “Georgiana, what are you doing here at this hour?”

“I was in the library,” she says. “I have to pass the classroom to get back to my car, and I saw your light on. Are you alright?”

“Of course,” Michelle answers. “What were you researching?”

“Important figures in the Carolinas during the revolutionary war,” she answers sheepishly. “I wanted to get a head start on the paper.” 

Michelle can’t help but smile. “Would you like to show me what you found?”

Georgiana beams and nearly trips over her feet in her rush to approach Michelle’s desk. She sets her books down and reaches for one in particular, flipping it over and searching for something. “I’ve been doing some digging on lesser known heroes during the war. You know, the men who helped in smaller battles that eventually turned the tide, women who took a stand and sheltered soldiers or even the few that fought.”

“I love the topics that require more dedication,” she says softly. “Who can you tell me about?”

“One band of Patriots in particular, in southern North Carolina. I was inspired by that story you told, of your ancestor living there."

Michelle waits. 

"There was this prominent North Carolina family, the Starks, who came from old British-Italian money. They were thought to be Loyalists, but were secretly Patriots for the first year or two of the war. They harbored injured soldiers and provided food, supplies, money, things like that. They carried messages and they planned battles. The head of the estate did more officiating, but his brother, Anthony, was a real boots-to-the-ground leader. He and a selection of loyal men were instrumental in so many battles."

At this point, Michelle is intrigued and following every word of her student. "Such as?"

"One of the earlier battles, Moore Creek," Georgiana explains. "The Patriots had a large camp and were planning on attacking a British camp nearby, just outside of Wilmington. But, they were found out and the British were planning on sneaking up on them in the early morning, before they'd properly woken up." 

Michelle knows the battle, and has the urge to tell Georgiana something about it, but she stops. It's as if she's completely forgotten a key detail in the story, and there's a twinge in her temple at the thought. 

"So, Anthony and his men were traveling from Wilmington to get back to Elizabethtown to keep their cover, when they came across this man who seemed suspicious, but had information on the upcoming battle. He told them that the British knew of their camp and were going to attack. Because of this information, Anthony and his men were able to give the warning signal to the Patriots and have them be prepared for battle. It was a significant win, and it diminished Loyalist resources and numbers in Wilmington, making a battle only months later so much easier that the port turned to Patriot control." 

Again, Michelle has the odd urge to correct her. She wants to say her ancestor was the only one who survived the Patriot slaughter, but she knows it's not true. Why would she have such an insistence for something that never happened? 

Her head is beginning to ache. 

"Oh! Here's the man, a doctor by the name of...Peter Parker Stark, though at the time he was just Peter Parker."

The book is placed in front of Michelle, and her stomach falls through the floor. There, in front of her, is a portrait of her husband. He stands in a Patriot uniform, proud and handsome and...with another man. Her eyes drop to the caption. 

_ Pictured above are Harley Keener Stark and his husband, Peter Parker Stark. The couple were instrumental in many Carolina battles, and known amongst the other soldiers for their profound connection. To see more about the couple, reference Lost Love Letters of the Revolutionary War.  _

"What happened to the man?" Michelle asks. Her palms are sweating and her heart is going to burst out of her chest. "This couple?"

"They both survived the war," Georgiana says. "I'll admit, I've read the letters found between them. Some of them are a little confusing, referencing Craigh Na Dun—an old Irish landmark from the settlers there that apparently has mystical powers—and strange comments about a love so meant to be, it crossed time and space, but...they were very in love. They settled down at Harley's family home in Greenville, North Carolina, and lived there until they passed in their late seventies." 

"They were happy," Michelle whispers. Without her permission, tears are falling onto the book beneath her. One splashes into Peter's shoulder and she laughs. "He was happy, and he lived a good life, with a good man." 

Georgiana gives her instructor a look of concern. "Professor Jones? Are you alright?"

"I'm—" she chokes on a laugh. "Oh, my word. I'm more than alright." 

**Author's Note:**

> Updates will be every Saturday morning, EST


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